


the world has its shine

by leighbot, Yendroid



Series: twhis [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alpha Harry, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bonding, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 86,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yendroid/pseuds/Yendroid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles, focusing on random days in the life of Zayn, Harry and their children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I went through on September 4, 2017 and reordered the chapters so that they are in the order the events happened in the canon of this 'verse. The notes at the top of each chapter can partially be ignored... these are not posted in order and the notes sometimes allude to timehops.
> 
>   
>    
> Nicki made a beautiful edit for the fic and I don't think I can ever thank her enough for everything.
> 
>   
>  [(x)](http://inkoasis.tumblr.com/post/160878388532/zayn-are-you-still-there-he-hates-the-nervous)   
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i originally wrote this short piece for change4charity’s 'a to z of zayn' before i was aware of their no shipping policy. i liked it (even though it’s had almost no editing) and wanted to post it to share! though this is not affiliated with the charity drive, please consider donating to benefit the BAT [here](https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/c4cZayn2017). every little bit helps if you can, although i know there are many other worthy and needy charities, especially this time of year.
> 
> this takes place about six months before zayn first meets harry.

A quote often attributed to Pablo Picasso, but without source material enough to back it up, is “every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”

As a small child, Zayn often bragged to his family- the extended mass of aunties, uncles and cousins that were in and out of his house as if it was their own- that he was an artist. His daddy and mummy would put his finger paintings and small craft projects around the house on display as if they were in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. He grew up with the sense that his artwork- childish drawings and barely-assembled popsicle stick shapes- was worth something to someone, because they were worth something to his parents.

As a teenager who enjoyed bucking labels more than he enjoyed the concept of fitting in, Zayn would scoff when people would comment on his sketches. Always with his nose in his notepad, filling the margins with characters that previously only existed in his mind, he would practically bare his teeth and growl when someone would peer over his shoulder for a look. He wasn’t an artist, he was just someone messing about instead of trying to pass maths.

 

It took a few years and plenty of encouragement from strangers for Zayn to feel comfortable taking back the title of artist. Now, at twenty-one, he’s finally confident enough in his both his talent and his voice. He isn’t an artist that everyone is going to love and he doesn’t have any delusions of being the next Picasso in any way, but he knows his niche market and he’s finally able to pay the bills with just the money he makes from selling his pieces. No more illustrating on the side or half-hearted attempts at graphic designs for websites too cheap to hire the real professionals.

Zayn comes down the stairs from his studio room, pulling his mask away from his face and letting it hang under his chin. It’s darker than expected outside and he glances worriedly at his watch.

“Shit, bloody fucking fuck,” he hisses, seeing it’s much later than he thought. Just as he’s whipping the mask completely off while trying to simultaneously tug his t-shirt over his head, there’s a knock on the main door. “Of course.”

He rushes to open it, tugging his shirt back down to hide his hipbones.

Chad’s stood in the open doorway, a small bouquet of flowers in his hands and a smile on his face. It fades slightly when he sees Zayn. “You’re not ready?” he asks, grin quickly coming back.

“Sorry, I lost track of time,” Zayn apologises, stepping back and letting Chad into the hallway. The abandoned building previously held a small market and a takeaway restaurant, but now Zayn rents the top floor for his studio and the bottom floor belongs to an older man who doesn’t ever seem to be home.

“I don’t ever expect you to be ready when we meet at your studio,” Chad teases, one hand trailing along Zayn’s waist as he steps inside. His tone is playful but there’s a hint of annoyance under his words that makes a ball of guilt build in Zayn’s stomach.

“I would completely hate me if I was in your shoes,” Zayn admits. His remark is self-deprecating and Chad doesn’t object to it, a fact that Zayn only barely registers. “I can be ready in ten minutes, though.”

“Take your time, the opening doesn’t start for another hour.”

“You said seven,” Zayn says, checking his watch and confirming that it’s almost quarter to now.

“I lied a little,” Chad admits with a guilty grin. “I knew you would need the buffer and it’s a little important to get there on time tonight. My boss and coworkers will all be there.”

Zayn doesn’t know how he feels about that. On the one hand, it’s an insult that he needs to be lied to in order to be somewhere on time. On the other hand, it was actually necessary in this case.

He decides to move past it for now, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Chad’s mouth. “Twenty minutes, then,” he says, pulling back with a grin. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The building doesn’t have a shower but there’s a large utility tub on the ground floor that the downstairs neighbor lets Zayn use for his brushes. He heads there, scrubbing paint and charcoal from his forearms and hands until he’s unblemished. He checks the mirror hanging on the wall, scraping off a line of green that curves along his jaw. There’s a dab of yellow on his eyebrow that huts something fierce when he picks it. He’s pretty sure some hair comes off with it but he doesn’t care; Chad works for a big firm in the city and impressing his coworkers is something Zayn hasn’t done in the two years they’ve been dating. He’s determined to win some of them over tonight.

Chad had invited him to a gallery opening that his firm was sponsoring. The chance to talk about art is making a buzz start under Zayn’s skin. The hairs on his forearms are lifted like he’s being electrocuted and his pulse is racing. When he double-checks that he’s gotten all of the paint, he notices the light shining bright in his eyes and the smile he can’t seem to fight. He’s never felt more confident.

It’s, of course, nothing like Zayn expected.

The art on display isn’t any new up-and-comer artists like Zayn had planned for. Instead, there is a sample of historic pieces- copies of art done by apprentices to Botticelli and Rembrandt, pieces of pottery excavated from the sites of ancient civilizations, and photographs of art predating even that in the form of hieroglyphics and ancient temples.

It’s lovely, all of it, but Zayn doesn’t know what to say when looking at a bowl fragment from over two thousand years ago.

“If a famous pharaoh drank from it, that would change things,” he said to Chad’s closest friend from work.

Kent didn’t even attempt to fake laugh or otherwise acknowledge Zayn’s failed joke besides raising his eyebrows slightly, glancing at Chad, and walking away.

“I shouldn’t have said that?” Zayn guesses, tucking himself under Chad’s arm and snagging a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

“Nah, it’s fine. Besides, I agree,” Chad says, holding him closer. “Who cares about this specific piece of bowl. Did anything important come from it? Did it reveal some previously unknown fact about ancient Babylon?”

Zayn feels relief flood through him. Most of the time, Chad is the most easy-going guy he’s ever known. Sometimes, though, appearances matter more to him than they probably should and he gets upset if he or Zayn do something to appear less-than-sophisticated. It’s why they don’t show too much affection in public- standing with their arms around each other like they are now is pushing it even a little, Zayn realises- and why Chad hasn’t invited Zayn on the annual company retreat just yet.

“We’ll have a party when you open your first gallery,” Chad promises, ducking his head to press a soft kiss to Zayn’s temple. Zayn rolls his eyes but can’t hide his grin, hugging his arm around Chad’s waist a bit tighter.

They walk around the gallery aimlessly, passing and stopping at most pieces. At one point, Chad is called away and Zayn is left mostly on his own. Some of the women who work with Chad are friendly, as are the spouses of the employees, and Zayn finds one girl in particular who shares his disdain for the apprentices’ works. They’re giggling over a flaw in a Rembrandt copy, both of them a few champagne glasses in, when Chad and her boyfriend find them again.

“There you are,” Chad says, smiling bright and flushed in his cheeks. “I’ve been looking for you. C’mere, there’s something you need to see.”

“What is it?” Zayn asks, smiling bright and following where Chad leads. “If you’ve found a half-plate to go with that bowl, I’m going to lose my mind with excitement.”

“Someone’s a bit sassy,” Chad teases, tugging him along.

They round a corner together, stumbling into an alcove that Zayn hadn’t previously seen. It’s mostly dark in the room. There’s a strand of bright LED lights that runs from corner to corner in a single line around three of the walls, the fourth wall taken up almost all of the way by the archway leading into the room.

Though it’s hard to see exactly what is in the room, Zayn’s eyes can pick out about a dozen or so silhouettes.

“What’s going on?” Zayn asks, turning to look at Chad and inhaling sharply when he sees him on one knee. “Chad, what-“

“We’ve been together over two years and there’s no one who puts up with me as well as you do,” Chad says as he grabs Zayn’s left hand and holds it close to him. The unnaturally bright lights are few but they cast shadows on his smile and make it appear eerie. His eyes are dark but there’s something gentle in them that Zayn focuses on. “Zayn, will you- please- marry me?”

There’s isn’t a word to describe the emotions currently swirling around in Zayn’s mind. In the quick moment he has before he needs to answer, he feels awkward, excited, happy and anxious. All battle for dominance in his gut.

He’s completely caught off-guard by Chad’s proposal. They haven’t really discussed marriage at all, not even in a joking way. Zayn’s never really thought they’d make it to this point. They’re both aloof and introverted in different ways; they are a couple that has a great time when they’re alone but always disagrees with how to interact in public.

The crowd of nameless, faceless people around them now does nothing to calm Zayn’s nerves. These are Chad’s closest friends, people he spends fifty or more hours with every week, and Zayn doesn’t know any of them enough to share this moment with them.

He opens his mouth- tells himself to just get this moment over with- before his voice fails him and he can’t say a word. He covers his mouth with his right hand, cold fingers pressing to his lips, and shakes his head.

“No?” Chad says in a whisper.

His grip on Zayn’s hand grows tighter before Zayn shakes his head again. “Not no,” Zayn says quickly. “Of course not no.”

Chad stands, linking their fingers and relaxing his hold. He tugs Zayn a little closer. “If you’re not saying no then are you saying yes?” His grin is sweet and small, and Zayn’s reminded of the best moments they share together, when it’s just them in their jammies watching movies and Chad makes him feel both loved and in love just by being near.

“Of course,” Zayn finds himself saying, looking down at his left hand when Chad slides a ring onto his fourth finger. He lets himself be pulled into a hug, faintly registering the clapping of the people around them as the lights are turned on brighter and he finally sees who they’re in front of. The faces are people he recognises but couldn’t name and, just like that, Zayn finds himself engaged.

It isn’t exactly how he thought it would go.


	2. back to the beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an anon on tumblr requested a glimpse of their first meeting. thank you, anon, for reaching out!
> 
> there will possibly be a morning after follow-up to this.

Zayn’s drunk.

Zayn is so, so drunk.

He’s lucky Louis is knocked up and therefore the designated driver, because he’s definitely, tremendously drunk and there’s no way he could get home on his own.

“I love you, mate,” he mutters, possibly drooling on Louis’ shoulder a bit. If Louis notices, he doesn’t say anything, just tightens his hold around Zayn’s waist and hitches him a bit higher. “You’re so great.”

Louis laughs. “You’re dead weight, bro. I don’t understand how you got so drunk so fast.”

“Heat’s coming soon,” Zayn admits, pressing his forehead to Louis’ shoulder.

“No wonder everyone’s staring.”

“They’re staring at  _you_ ,” Zayn sighs. “You’re full up on pregnancy hormones. You’re gonna have a baby. I wanna have a baby.”

“You’ll have a baby one day.”

“No,” Zayn whines. “I won’t. I’m going to die alone.”

“Lightweight and a drama queen to boot,” Louis mutters.

“Rude.”

“I’m not about to feel sorry for you because you broke up with your boyfriend,” Louis sasses.

“Smug married bastard.”

“Yep.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, feeling dizzy from it, and he lets Louis lead him to a booth. He recognizes his half-finished whiskey from earlier, and he wiggles out of Louis’ hold to grab for it. Louis lets him, laughing at the face he pulls when he tastes how watered down it is from the melted ice.

“That’s awful, I want more.”

“I’m tired and pregnant, I’m not getting you another one,” Louis says, sharp gaze searching the crowd.

As if with supernatural speed, Liam suddenly appears at their booth. He’s shiny with sweat, his shirt and trousers both pulled tight, and he’s getting equal attention from the alphas and omegas in the club. Zayn scowls. His best friends are pulling all the focus and they’re the ones who need it the least.

“Hey Lou,” Liam says over the music, his expression soft. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Louis assures, one hand on his belly and the other grabbing his ice water to take a sip. “Just out of breath from wrangling Drunky here.”

Zayn feels like he should be offended by this. He waves a hand and turns in his seat, trying to find the bar. He catches the eye of someone instead, a guy a few booths over. He’s with a bunch of friends, all of them shoved around a small table, and he’s clearly an alpha. His shoulders are broad, stretching the seams of a white dress shirt, and his long hair falls in loose curls to his shoulders. As Zayn watches, the guy lifts his glass in acknowledgement.

If Zayn’s honest, he looks kind of like a douche under his handsome exterior. It’d probably be a mistake to acknowledge him in return. Zayn’s just gotten out of a relationship with a fuckboy, he doesn’t need to rebound with another one.

He smiles anyway and gives a little wave.

~*~

Harry almost hadn’t come out tonight. He’s jetlagged from a brief work trip to Japan and he’d been looking forward to some sleep but then Niall had warned him he’d lose his status as an honorary member of the LIC so here he is.

There’s a guy Harry notices right away, a pretty omega boy with dark hair sitting alone at a booth. Something about him pulls Harry’s attention, something besides his striking looks, and Harry downs a shot with the entire LIC before working up the nerve to approach.

He goes to the bar and orders two shots of whiskey, taking them from the bartender with a nod. When he turns around, though, the guy he’d been watching has been joined by two friends. Harry hesitates, unsure what to do. He’s pretty sure the two new guys are together, but the beefier one is hugging the pretty one Harry had been eyeing, and he suddenly doesn’t know anymore.

Deciding to head back to his own friends, he hands off the shots to Laura and Eoghan and takes his seat. The pretty omega and the alpha head out to the dance floor, leaving their friend behind. Harry watches, doesn’t take his eyes off of them as they start moving together. They’re definitely handsy with each other but it seems platonic, and Harry relaxes a little as he keeps tab on them.

Niall hands him a drink a few minutes later, and Harry barely glances at him as he takes it and says thanks. “Who’re you lookin at?” Niall teases.

“No one.”

“You’re practically growling,” Niall says. “You’re vibrating with tension.”

Harry debates just ignoring him but then Niall scans the crowd, looking for the focus of Harry’s attention. It doesn’t take very long, as the pretty boy starts laughing at something his alpha friend has said, and the blindingly bright smile belies Harry’s interest. Niall looks back just to confirm he’s got it right and Harry scowls at him.

Niall laughs. “Why don’t you go talk to him? Work some of that Styles charm. Not like you’ve ever been turned down.”

Harry grunts, not sure himself. He’s never usually shy about approaching people at clubs, but something is different about this boy. There’s certainly no lack of competition, either. Plenty of people, alphas mostly, have approached the guy for a dance or drink. He hasn’t turned them down, either, always smiling at them and giving them his attention for a few moments until something pulls him away. After about an hour now, that something is the friend that had originally stayed behind in the booth.

With the new angle, Harry can see that the friend is clearly pregnant, one hand on his bump as he weaves through the crowd to the pretty one. They talk, briefly, and then the pregnant one helps his friend back to the booth. The pretty omega is clearly drunk, not enough to be falling over but enough that his friend gets an arm around his waist and helps steady him a few times. They pour themselves into the booth, the two of them bickering and laughing until the alpha comes back, fretting over his mate.

It’s then that the pretty one looks around the club, eyes scanning for something until he sees Harry watching. Harry doesn’t even have the sense to pretend he hasn’t been staring, just pushes his hair back from his face and holds up his drink in a salute.

The guy smiles and gives a little half-wave, and Harry finally decides that enough is enough and he needs to go over and introduce himself or regret it for the whole night. He wobbles slightly when he scoots out of the booth to stand, not drunk but buzzed and eerily nervous, and he walks away from his now whistling and cheering friends. The boy doesn’t take his eyes off of Harry, and Harry sees the two friends turn and watch as he approaches. The alpha puffs his chest out a bit but makes no other warning signals, so Harry keeps his posture relaxed.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he says, voice sounding faint over the music.

“I’m Zayn.”

“Zayn,” Harry repeats, grinning. He leans in a bit, one arm on the back of the booth. He keeps the other behind his back, doesn’t want to make Zayn think he’s being caged in, but he wants to get closer, too. Wants to know if the pull between them is all in Harry’s head.

Zayn scoots closer to the edge, his hand dragging along Harry’s.

Seems like the pull is felt both ways.

“Are you going to buy me a drink?” Zayn asks, blinking slowly and peeking back up at him.

Harry grins.

“I think you’ve had enough,” the pregnant omega says, frown deep. Harry looks over to him, even as Zayn stands up, pressing his chest to Harry’s.

“I’m fine.”

“Louis’ right, Zayn,” the alpha adds. “Maybe we should get you home, instead.”

Zayn scowls, pretty lips in a pout while his eyes furrow. “Harry can get me home.”

Feeling like he needs to keep Zayn’s friends happy, Harry pauses. “Erm, we could maybe just talk, a bit, if you’d rather.”

Zayn turns back to him, pressing somehow closer. “No,” he whines while simultaneously smirking. “I like that drink idea you had. Let’s focus on that.”

Harry can’t help but grin. “If you’re sure,” he says, taking a step back and waving Zayn forward. He lets Zayn get a small lead while he turns back to Zayn’s friends. “I know you don’t know me from Adam,” he says, voice earnest, “but I’ll be careful with him, I promise.”

They both look surprised, especially the pregnant one- Louis- Harry remembers, but Harry doesn’t wait for an answer before he follows Zayn in long strides. Zayn grins at him over his shoulder when they reach the bar.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asks them, shouting slightly.

“Surprise me,” Harry whispers in Zayn’s ear, using the music as an excuse to push closer. He feels it when Zayn shivers, and presses his lips together around a smile.

~*~

Zayn’s not entirely sure how much time it takes, but he knows that it’s only two drinks and a lot of conversation later when he’s pulling Harry into the hall leading to the toilets. He backs himself against the wall, both hands tight on Harry’s soft waist to keep him close.

“Kiss me,” he commands, sighing when Harry crowds him in. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss-“

Getting off with new people always features a second of indecision, a need for adjustments, and a magical moment where it all comes together. He’s buzzed and reckless, so all three steps seem to happen at once. Kissing Harry is like nothing else, the way he tilts Zayn’s head with one gentle hand at his jaw or the way he pulls back only to give him room to push forward again are both somehow new sensations.

Zayn’s not thinking of anything else. His ex-boyfriend, his friends at the bar, his early morning commitments are all pushed from his mind as he gets an arm around Harry’s neck. His other he keeps on Harry’s waist, pushing under his shirt and palming the soft skin of his hip.

“My love handles,” Harry laughs against his mouth, and Zayn has to pull his head back to snort.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, voice low. He lifts his hand to brush against Harry’s alcohol-warm cheeks, his skin pink under Zayn’s fingertips. He uses his barely-there touch to guide Harry’s lips back to his, his own mouth lax as he lets Harry take what he wants.

It could be seconds or hours later, Zayn doesn’t know, but something breaks Harry away from him. Zayn barely suppresses a whine, blinking his eyes open to see Louis stepping between them, Liam not more than a few feet away.

“Lou, ‘m fine,” Zayn reassures him, recognizing the determined set to Louis’ brows.

“How drunk are you?” Louis asks.

“Enough that I’m equally okay with either going home with this guy or drunk texting my ex until we’re back together for another terrible few months.”

“If it counts for anything: I hate that second idea,” Harry says from behind Louis, a rough timber to his voice that makes the hairs on the back of Zayn’s neck stand up.

“It doesn’t really,” Louis says, albeit kindly. Liam straightens his shoulders at Harry’s words, stepping in a bit closer to his mate with a serious set to his jaw.

“Ugh, this alpha posturing is interrupting my good time,” Zayn groans. “Mom, Dad, I’m okay to make decisions and call an Uber if I need to get home. Now let me make what might be a terrible decision with a ridiculously fit guy like the grown adult that I am.”

“He’s fit enough that you might not even regret it in the morning,” Louis giggles, shoulders relaxing.

“I _am_ right here,” Harry reminds them. “Can hear everything.”

“Aye, we know,” Liam responds, his own posture still rigid. “Call if you need us, Zayn.”

Zayn salutes him and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek before they walk away, Liam’s arm loose around Louis’ waist and Louis’ palm pressing to his ever-growing bump.

When he turns back, Harry’s eyes are locked on him. “You going to offer to take me to yours or are we gonna fuck in the toilets?”

Harry grins.

~*~

Harry’s so glad he didn’t pick fucking in the toilets.

The image of Zayn sprawled against his crisp white sheets is one that Harry’s going to keep in the back of his mind for ages to come. He’s stripped off Zayn’s shirt and unbuttoned his trousers, Zayn already looking completely fucked out. His lips are kiss swollen and there’s a hickey blooming under his navel next to his black ink heart. Harry hadn’t been able to resist.

He’s sucking marks back up Zayn’s stomach, pausing on his journey to tease Zayn’s nipples, when Zayn starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Harry mumbles, nosing at the scarlet lips tattooed on Zayn’s chest and trying to read the high-pitched noise to judge if it’s based in nerves or not.

“Your room is boring, mate.”

Harry looks up, resting his chin on Zayn’s skin. He’s soothed by the relaxed expression on Zayn’s face but still feels a bit on edge. “I’m doing this wrong if you’re focusing on my room and not my mouth.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound very apologetic.

Harry groans, rolling onto his back. “Why is my room boring, then?”

Zayn grins, shifting to support his weight on his elbows. Harry ignores the twitch his cock gives at the way Zayn licks his lips before speaking. “’s just so… white, you know? Sheets, walls, furniture. Everything is white.”

“I travel a lot,” Harry defends himself. “I’m in hotel rooms more often than my own. It never made sense to decorate.”

“You travel? Like, on holiday?”

“For business.”

“What do you do?”

“Business things,” Harry smirks.

“Okay, play coy,” Zayn laughs. “You should decorate.”

“How?”

Taking a minute, sizing up the room, Zayn pauses. “Color, of course. I have a wall in my room that I just constantly paint over. I draw little characters and scenes and pretend I’m tagging it, and then I paint it white a few weeks later and start over.”

Harry looks around. “Might look a bit out of place in here.”

“Nah, like a statement piece.”

“What else?”

“I’d definitely get a new wardrobe and a rug.”

“A rug?” Harry asks, laughing. He’s turned on his side, watching as Zayn grows more and more animated describing his vision.

“Yeah, a big fluffy shag rug with green and brown, like. A dark wood wardrobe and some wood shelves.”

“What goes on the shelves?”

“Anything could,” Zayn answers, frowning at Harry like he’s told a confusing joke. “You could put books on them or pictures. Do you collect anything?”

“Like coins?”

“No, like on your business travels when you do business things,” Zayn teases. “Do you collect snow globes or shot glasses?”

“Not really.”

“Hmm.” The way Zayn responds makes Harry feel like he’s exposed a huge character flaw, and he pouts. Zayn looks over and notices, smirking. “It’s not bad, babe,” he teases as he leans in a bit. “Just got to make this place look lived in, that’s all. Make you look less boring.”

“I’m going to be offended at that later,” Harry quips, one hand dragging along the edge of Zayn’s pants. “Right now, I can think of a few things I’d rather be doing.”

Instead of a sassy smirk or flirty comeback, Zayn pulls a face and clearly forces a laugh. It makes Harry pause, lifting his hand and shifting so there’s no contact between them. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Harry sits up, fluffing the duvet between them to create an illusion of separation.

“What’re you doing?” Zayn asks, smiling slightly again.

“I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” Zayn repeats, dragging out the vowel sounds. “I’m practically sober and everything. Harry, what are you- stop building a wall?” he laughs.

“Sorry,” Harry laughs as he realizes he’s pulled a pillow between them.

Zayn puts his hand on top of Harry’s, picking it up from the pillow and moving it back to his hip. He pushes the pillow out of the way and lays back down. “I want just this, right now, if that’s okay?”

“That’s- yeah,” Harry says, staring at his hand on the sharp jut of Zayn’s hip. “That’s definitely okay.”

“And if I want to leave in five minutes without going any further than this?”

Harry squeezes gently, a knee-jerk reaction to the thought of Zayn leaving, but then he forces himself to answer. “I would make sure you had my phone number and then I’d call you a car.”

“Then kiss me,” Zayn says, grabbing at Harry’s bicep and pulling him forward. He’s stronger than he looks at first, wiry and sheer power in his grip. His fingers burn a brand on Harry’s skin, his breath catching as their lips meet again and Zayn lowers his head back to the pillow, Harry following.

They stay like that for what feels like long minutes, Harry balancing over Zayn’s chest until his arm flares with pins and needles. He slips further down then, shifting to his back and letting Zayn crowd into his space for a bit. He’s hard in his pants, but it’s more of a slow-burning arousal that he can try to ignore as he busies himself with touching every part of Zayn he can reach. His palms sweep lines along the curve of Zayn’s spine, fitting his fingers around his small waist and using his strength to tug Zayn even closer. Zayn’s thighs straddle Harry’s own, his broad shoulders blocking the light cast from the small lamp on the bedside table.

Too soon, they’re yawning into each other’s’ mouths as they kiss, laughing when they break away. Zayn dips his head down, dragging the tip of his nose along Harry’s smooth cheek.

“No scruff,” he says, yawning in the middle of the word so it drags out longer.

“Not like you,” Harry agrees, running his nails through the hairs directly under Zayn’s bottom lip. “You’ve got enough for the both of us, I think.” They kiss again, mouths gentle and no real intention behind it.

“Will you stay the night?” Harry asks.

Zayn blinks long and slow, his lashes dark against his cheek.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Harry offers when Zayn doesn’t immediately respond.

“Well,” Zayn says, dragging out the word. “If brekkie is on offer, I better say yes.”

Harry grins. He helps Zayn scoot off of him, though he doesn’t allow him to go too far. They’re both on their sides, facing each other, and Harry tilts his chin up to continue kissing.

He isn’t sure who falls asleep first.


	3. the morning after the night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a continuation of their first meeting, with a hint of a look at the concept of soulmates and bonds.

Immediately upon waking, Zayn knows whose bed he is currently in. Even before opening his eyes, memories of the night before dance through his mind. Harry’s scent is soaked into his sheets, which are warm from the fat sunbeams forcing their way through the oversized window in Harry’s room. Zayn hums a bit as he wakes, discreetly wiping at his mouth in case of drool, but his hand comes away dry and he blinks open his eyes.

The bed is empty next to him, a fact he was already distantly aware of. He’s on his stomach, a position he doesn’t normally sleep in, and he gets his hands underneath him to push up onto his knees. The sheets that had been pulled up to his chin fall with his movements and he frowns down at the jeans he’s still wearing. He’s surprised he could sleep in them, one of his tightest pairs, and he rolls to his back so he can kick them off. Standing from the bed, trousers in hand, Zayn casts around until he finds the t-shirt he’d been wearing the night before.

It feels stiff and rough in his hands, not soft the way Harry’s sheets had just been. Zayn folds them together instead, putting them in a bundle on an armchair in the corner. He takes another glance around Harry’s white room, cataloguing all of the places color would benefit it. Feeling a bit naughty, he walks over to Harry’s wardrobe. The drawers all hold pants and socks, athletic shorts and stretchy lycra fiber shirts. It’s not what Zayn’s looking for so he opens the doors next, smiling with victory.

More t-shirts than Zayn has ever seen are in front of him now, sorted by color and folded expertly as if in a department store. He snorts as he runs his fingers over them, feeling for the softest one before selecting a burnt orange shirt with softer fabric than freshly picked cotton. It’s sleeves are ripped off but Zayn doesn’t mind, pulling it over his head. The hem hits just below the elastic band of his black pants.

Zayn heads out of the bedroom, looking in the first open door he passes to see the toilet. He relieves himself and washes his hands and face quickly, squirting some toothpaste on his pointer finger and cleaning his teeth as efficiently as he can.

He finds Harry in the kitchen next, stood at the oven in a white band t-shirt and pants, his hair piled on his head in a messy bun with curls escaping as if they’ve a mind of their own. Harry’s back is to Zayn, so Zayn takes for himself a long moment to appreciate the way the fabric of Harry’s shirt clings to his skin, near see-through across Harry’s broad shoulders.

Though he tries to be quiet, Zayn must make a sound because Harry startles and turns his head, looking over his shoulder.

“Good morning,” Zayn says, pushing off from the door frame and padding closer in his bare feet.

“Morning!” Harry says, grin splitting his face. “Breakfast is almost done, hope you don’t mind a full English.”

Zayn walks into Harry’s outstretched arm, curling in close to his body. “Oh, wow,” he says, eyeing the rashers of bacon and sausages piled already on the plates.

“Scrambled eggs okay or do you prefer over easy?”

“I, um. Everything looks great but,” Zayn hesitates. There’s beans and toast, tomatoes and mushrooms already served up. Harry put a lot of work into it and part of Zayn feels guilty.

Reading him wrong, Harry quickly looks around. “I could do another kind if you like. Hard boiled or poached or…”

“I don’t eat pork,” Zayn spits out.

“Oh.”

He hates the disappointed note in Harry’s tone so he looks up, forcing his lips into a teasing pout to mirror Harry’s mouth. “It’s fine,” Zayn tries, offering a smile. “I can just have some coffee and be on my way.”

“Absolutely not, that’s ridiculous.” Harry pauses for a moment, arm warm where it’s still wrapped around Zayn’s shoulders.

Suddenly, Harry lets go of him. Zayn turns to watch as he bends down to a cabinet under the worktop. He can’t quite see past Harry’s shoulders, so he doesn’t know what he’s grabbing until he stands with a waffle maker in hand.

“Harry-“ he starts, trying not to laugh.

“I’ve got a great recipe for Nutella waffles. Do you like Nutella?”

“Erm-“

“Or, if not, I can make pancakes or muffins. I used to be a baker, I can make pretty good muffins.”

“I-“

“Honestly, whatever you want, we can make it or I can order it in or-“

“Harry!” Zayn’s laughing, smile wide and tongue pressing against his top teeth. He grabs Harry’s hands, pulling him around to face him completely. “I don’t want you to go through any trouble. You already made me a really good-looking breakfast. I feel bad that I can’t eat it.”

“It’s fine,” Harry brushes it off. “I can make you an omelette. I never did learn what kind of eggs you like. I have cheese and mushrooms, I can whip up something.”

“Stop,” Zayn begs, pulling Harry closer and tilting his chin up to bring their lips together.

The distraction works as intended, Harry dropping Zayn’s hands and gripping tightly to Zayn’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together. Harry’s mouth tastes like his toothpaste and some kind of herbal tea, the combination bitter on Zayn’s tongue. It doesn’t stop him from pushing forward for more, the spark they lit last night bursting back into flame.

Unfortunately, Zayn’s stomach doesn’t agree with its current situation. It rumbles loud enough to be heard by Harry, who pulls away with such a concerned expression that Zayn can’t help but laugh at him. The alpha pouts at his reaction, though his eyes are still bright as he recognizes the teasing.

“I don’t know why I said I used to be a baker,” Harry says. “It’s not really true.”

“Lying already?” Zayn affects a surprised expression, though he feels like his smile is too pleased to pull it off entirely.

“I just. I worked in a bakery but they didn’t let me make anything. It never came out right.”

“No muffins, then?” Zayn teases.

“Not unless you want to chip a tooth.”

“Erm, not today.” Zayn’s fingers trace circles around Harry’s hip while he considers their options. “I can make muffins, if you’ve got the right ingredients. ‘S usually pretty standard stuff.”

“I’m sure I’ve got everything,” Harry says, guiding Zayn out of the way of another cupboard, bending low and grabbing out flour, sugar and baking powder.

“Vegetable oil?”

“Got it,” Harry says, producing it as well. “Eggs and milk are in the fridge.”

“What kind of muffins should we make?” Zayn asks, grabbing things from the fridge and eyeing the options. “You’ve got chocolate chips and cream cheese, bananas, raisins.”

“What kind do you like?” Harry asks in return, grabbing clingwrap from a drawer for the rejected breakfast plates.

Zayn bites his tongue against his opinions on how effective that will be. “I’m partial to just cream cheese, myself. It’s good with chocolate chips, too.”

“Just cream cheese sounds good.”

Zayn checks a couple cupboards and drawers before finding bowls and mixing spoons, focusing on the task at hand and kind of tuning everything else out. He used to bake with his baba and older sister all the time. He hears Doniya’s voice in his head as he keeps his wet and dry ingredients separate, mixing them together slowly and carefully the way his baba would, long and smooth strokes of the spoon to scrape the sides.

It’s only when he realizes he doesn’t have a muffin tray that he looks around, seeing Harry’s eyes on him. It’s an intense kind of stare, one that would make Zayn uncomfortable if he didn’t already intimately know how soothing Harry’s arms can be when they wrap around him and hold him close. Harry’s eyes are green and striking, even across the short distance, and Zayn pauses.

“What?” he asks, brushing his fringe back from his face self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Harry says, blinking quickly and looking away for all of two seconds before he’s glancing back. His smile is soft and kind of fond, dimple shallow. “Are you looking for something?”

“Muffin tin,” Zayn mumbles, scratching at his scruff.

The tin he’s handed is obviously brand new. Part of Zayn likes to think that, though he may not be the first omega Harry’s drunkenly brought home, he’s the first to make him muffins the morning after. That’s a memory that won’t easily be replaced even if he leaves Harry’s flat today and never sees him again.

Not that Zayn’s concerned with what happens after he leaves Harry’s flat.

As soon as he slides the muffins into the oven and sets the timer, he feels Harry’s hands on his waist, pulling him gently back to press against Harry’s chest.

“You’re something else,” Harry says into his ear, his voice rough and full of alpha timbre.

Zayn can smell Harry’s aftershave and shampoo, both mixing together with his pheromones which are typically stronger in the mornings anyway. Zayn knows his own have been quite high since he woke in Harry’s bed, reacting to the potential mate nearby. It's a feeling akin to being drunk, letting his baser instincts take over.

He doesn’t fight the urge to relax into Harry’s hold, though, resting his hands on Harry’s folded arms. Harry noses at the scent gland behind Zayn’s right ear, brushing his lips across the same spot a moment later.

“Is this okay? Stop me if it isn’t,” Harry says, voice even lower.

“It’s okay, you’re good,” Zayn says, closing his eyes and tilting his head to give Harry more room.

“Come back to bed for a bit,” he coaxes, stepping back and humming when Zayn follows automatically.

Zayn offers a half-hearted token protest around a laugh. “The muffins, though.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“I can make a list of all the things we can do in twenty minutes, if you’d like, or we can just start doing them.”

Zayn turns in Harry’s arms. “Start doing them, that’s my vote.”

They’re both smiling as they step through the doorway into Harry’s room, Zayn pulling Harry’s vest over his head as Harry tugs his own kit off. He scoots onto the bed in just his pants, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as he watches Harry’s body as he crawls up the sheets.

“Are you keeping these on?” Harry asks with a grin, finger hooked under the elastic waistband on Zayn’s pants.

“How much of your list can we accomplish like this?” Zayn asks with a smirk of his own.

“Enough to make you forget big words like ‘accomplished’,” Harry promises.

“That’s not even a big word,” Zayn protests, getting his hands on his own waist and pushing his pants down himself. Harry shifts to let him kick them off, then crowds back into his space and brings their mouths together.

Zayn forces all thoughts out of his head, focusing instead on the way Harry’s hands touch him almost reverently, as if he’s something special. His own hands lay uselessly in the sheets, fingers twisting in the material as Harry coaxes his legs apart and slips between his spread thighs.

His cock rubs against the thin trail of hair under Harry’s navel, a moan slipping from his mouth as he rocks his hips to get more contact.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Harry promises, reaching a hand down. His fingers are cool but not unpleasant, and Zayn’s legs open further as he searches for more sensation. Harry chuckles as he brushes their lips together again. “Look how pretty you are.”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Would I be a complete Neanderthal if I just repeat over and over again how good you look in my shirt, in my bed, and in my kitchen?”

“Yes.” Zayn laughs through gritted teeth.

“Good thing I don’t care, then.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Zayn asks, trying for a teasing tone but possibly missing the mark with the way he practically gasps after speaking, Harry’s cock finally brushing against his hole.

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Harry insists, dragging the edge of his thumb nail through Zayn’s slit before focusing pressure just under the head. Zayn hisses, tossing his head back on Harry’s pillows as he pushes his hips up and further up to chase the sensation. His hands finally find a purpose, one squeezing the meat of Harry’s shoulder tightly while the other tangles in his own hair, tugging in time with Harry’s hand. “C’mon baby,” Harry encourages. “Gonna make you come before I need to get our breakfast. Then I’m going to come back and keep making you feel good until you ask me to stop.”

“And if I never ask?”

“Then I never stop.”

Harry’s words sound like a promise. Zayn closes his eyes, letting all the sensations he’s experiencing flow over him. He counts and recounts all of the places they’re touching like he’ll be tested on it later. Harry has a hand under Zayn’s thigh, keeping it around Harry’s hips as he continues to rock so his dick is pressing insistently against Zayn’s hole, a teasing sensation that keeps Zayn wet and on edge.

“You’re right there, baby, I can smell it.”

Zayn shakes his head, fighting it. Sweat is damp on his brow and gathered in the dip of his collarbone that Harry bends to lick at and bite. His teeth sting his skin, hard enough he might leave marks, and his own scent mixed with his alpha pheromones overwhelm Zayn, who lets out a broken grunt as he gives in to the pull and finally starts to come.

Harry surges up to connect their mouths as his hand keeps stroking Zayn off, the tip of his cock almost breaching Zayn’s hole in a tease so sweet it helps milk Zayn completely dry. Zayn moans into Harry’s mouth once he’s finally done, sunk into the sheets. The hand that had been on Harry’s shoulder has slipped down to Harry’s lower back, slick with sweat and soft with what appears to be stubborn baby fat. Harry’s breathing heavy as if he’s the one who has just had an earth-shattering orgasm, and he’s a solid weight against Zayn’s chest.

The press of his erection is insistent against Zayn’s thigh and Zayn’s just started dragging his fingers across Harry’s skin with the intention of helping him out when the oven timer goes off, a dull buzzing sound that takes Zayn a moment to place. Harry laughs, kissing Zayn’s lips and then forehead. “Great timing,” he jokes, sliding from the bed somewhat reluctantly. Zayn’s pleased as he watches Harry stroll from the room still naked, the sound of his feet soft as he walks into the kitchen. Soon, the buzzing sound stops and Zayn can hear the slide of the muffin tin on the oven rack. He can’t smell anything from the bedroom, the lingering scent of their sweat and pheromones strong enough to overpower almost anything.

Harry returns quickly, a plate in hand piled high with what at first appear to be muffins. Upon further inspection, Zayn grins when he sits up and sees that the plate is overloaded with muffin pieces, instead.

“You’re supposed to let them cool before taking them out,” he scolds.

Harry shrugs, popping a piece into his mouth. “Taste fine to me. And I know you’re hungry. Don’t need another stomach rumble to interrupt the next round.”

“Did you at least wash your hands?” Zayn asks, waiting for Harry’s pleased nod before opening his mouth and wordlessly begging for a bite. Harry places a large chunk in his mouth, careful not to let any crumbs drop.

The muffin is still a bit soft from not having had the proper time to cool, but it tastes perfect, just like his baba taught him. Zayn pushes up on his hands to take another piece, slapping Harry’s hand away playfully when they both eye the same bite simultaneously. Zayn wins it, though he’s not sure how much of it was due to his own quick hand or because Harry graciously lets him have it, watching Zayn intently as he continues eating.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem, mate?” Zayn asks, wholly unconcerned.

“Yep.”

Zayn nods, not sure what to say next. He busies himself with eating, unsuccessfully avoiding meeting Harry’s gaze. Something about it draws Zayn’s eye again and again.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Harry asks slowly and after a long pause.

“You probably should. Doesn’t though.”

Zayn takes the last bite of muffin, savouring it as Harry sets the now empty plate on the bedside table. He scoots closer as Zayn swallows and licks his lips, Harry’s eyes tracking the flicker of his tongue. Zayn’s ready for the touch when Harry lifts his hand and brings it to Zayn’s cheek, but it still somehow startles him. Harry’s hand slides back to cup Zayn’s head, his fingers slipping through Zayn’s hair while his thumb focuses pressure just under Zayn’s ear.

“Are you still hungry?” Harry asks, voice deep. Zayn shakes his head. “Good.”

Zayn closes his eyes as Harry crowds into his space again, their mouths meeting in a now-practiced fashion as they settle back against the sheets. Harry’s hand and their mouths are the only places they’re touching until Zayn shifts and grips onto Harry’s soft hips, pushing him onto his back and crawling over him. Harry makes to wrap his arms around Zayn’s waist but Zayn grabs his wrists before he can, pushing them gently down to the sheets and settling his weight across Harry’s thighs.

“Don’t touch, not yet,” Zayn instructs, letting go when Harry nods. He reaches to his own neck, straightening his necklaces where they’re tangled before setting his hands on Harry’s butterfly tattoo and scooting back so Harry’s cock is brushing against his arse. “I might not ever let you put clothes back on,” Zayn says, smirking as he rocks down.

Harry groans, fingers twitching though he keeps his promise and doesn’t move them. “Same,” he agrees.

Zayn leans down carefully, the pendants on the chains around his neck falling forward and hitting Harry’s skin seconds before their mouths are joined again. Zayn keeps rocking his hips down, Harry’s cock snubbing against his hole. He whines into Harry’s mouth, forgetting to return the kiss. Harry’s lips trail along Zayn’s jaw before teasing at the scent gland behind Zayn’s right ear.

It’s like an electrical wire connects runs through Zayn’s blood, the attention Harry’s paying to his skin sends a jolt through him and he actively feels himself grow wetter. His whine slips into grunts as he works himself down harder, his pheromones and Harry’s mixing in the air. Their scent is powerful together.

“Touch me now, please,” Zayn says.

True to form, Harry instantly complies. He doesn’t rush into it, but his fingers start at Zayn’s knees and slide up and around from there until he’s squeezing Zayn’s arse and spreading his cheeks, tilting his hips as best he can in his position to drag his cock between them. One hand soon moves on, pinching at Zayn’s nipples.

Zayn’s biting his bottom lip raw at the different sensations he’s feeling, his eyes damp with tears as he reaches a hand behind him to grip Harry’s cock and hold it in place as he rolls his hips and eases the tip of Harry’s cock inside.

“Baby,” Harry groans, tossing his head back. His bun is nearly completely loose, hair bunching under his head as both of his hands move to Zayn’s hips and hold him steady as he sinks down further.

Zayn’s own mouth is busy at Harry’s pulse point, his eyes squeezed tight as he ignores the stretch until he can’t fit any more inside, breathing out a sigh once he finally stills. Harry seems to sense that he needs time, and he keeps his hips still as Zayn moves in what must be torturously teasing slow rolls.

Finally, after ages, Zayn picks himself up. His necklaces drag against Harry’s sternum, glistening with sweat as Harry takes deep breaths and begins bucking his hips to meet every shift of Zayn’s own. Harry’s hands stay at Zayn’s waist, squeezing with every thrust. Zayn’s hands are supporting him on Harry’s chest, nails digging into his sparrow tattoos as he chases his release.

“Can I-“ Harry asks, Zayn nodding and gasping out a yes before the question is finished, the head of Harry’s cock pressing perfectly against his prostate. Harry stills him for a moment before letting go of Zayn’s skin and getting his hands under himself to push himself up into a sitting position.

The movement dislodges Zayn, who whimpers once at the loss before reaching down again. Harry’s wet with Zayn’s slick and his own precome, and Zayn’s hand slips around him easily as he guides him back inside. His fingers trail down to circle Harry’s knot, squeezing twice in quick succession.

Harry holds him against his chest as he pants into Zayn’s hair, Zayn’s scruff brushing against his shoulder as they feed off of each other’s energy. One of Zayn’s arms wrap around Harry’s neck, holding him close as Harry begins shifting them, his shoulders straining with the effort to move both himself and Zayn in sync. “I’m gonna- my knot,” Harry warns.

“Please,” Zayn begs, his body shivering once with want as he starts tugging himself off with his free hand, their necklaces brushing together in the scant space between them.

The stretch of Harry’s knot forcing itself through the clench of his hole is enough pressure to make Zayn bite down into the meat of Harry’s shoulder as it triggers his own orgasm. He comes in short waves, painting Harry’s stomach and his own hand with his release as Harry’s knot fully pops. Zayn pulls back just far enough to watch Harry’s face, grinning at the way Harry’s brows furrow and his mouth pouts in a grimace as he comes, as if he’s almost in pain. Zayn half-heartedly wipes his hand on his own stomach, brushing his thumb across Harry’s lips to smooth out the tension before leaning in for a kiss.

Since they are neither of them going through a rut or heat cycle, they don’t remain tied together for very long. Harry slips out not even a moment later, his face and neck red from exertion. Zayn kisses the flush from his cheeks, not caring about the mess the two of them have made on Harry’s sheets as their breathing and heart rates slow to normal.

It’s only when the sweat on his skin has cooled that Zayn realizes how intimately they’re wrapped around each other. He pulls back slightly, straightening out their respective chain necklaces and twirling his fingers around his pendant in a nervous tic he’s barely aware of.

The thing is that he knows the morning had been a classic situation of the morning after the night before. Especially since they hadn’t really had too eventful of a night before. He hasn’t been single and shagging fit blokes for fun in years, but he knows the etiquette hasn’t changed that much. While he’d originally been overstaying his welcome by pulling on one of Harry’s shirts and commandeering Harry’s kitchen, the sex had been completely worth it. He’s confident enough to know Harry would agree.

Now, though, he finds himself in an awkward position of somehow sneaking away after a daytime shag, which is always more complicated.

He scoots back until they’re no longer touching, Harry watching him lazily through hooded eyes as Zayn looks around the room to spot his discarded pants and clothes. He ignores the feeling of his slick and Harry’s come as he stands and hops into his pants, still looking for his trousers.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Harry asks. When Zayn turns to look at him, his eyes are brighter and more aware. It’s hard to hold his gaze, but Zayn somehow manages.

“I should go home, I’m supposed to be meeting my family for tea.” It’s not entirely a lie; he had invited Waliyha and Safaa down to London for an overnight stay with him, but their train isn’t scheduled in for hours yet.

Harry pulls a strange face, a juxtaposed mix between relief and disappointment that’s so confusing Zayn almost doubts what he sees. But then Harry’s standing, tugging his own pants back up and over his bum, snapping the elastic against his hips in a distracted fashion as he pokes around in a pile of clothes. He lets out a small sound of triumph as he finds Zayn’s shirt, handing it to him after he’s slipped into the trousers he’d slept in by accident.

“Thanks,” Zayn mutters, grabbing his coat from where it’s hung over the back of a chair, slipping it on and sticking his hands in the pockets, thumbing at his pack of cigarettes. He feels out of sorts, eyes darting around the room frantically as if desperate to memorize every blindingly white detail.

He only realizes he’s been stood in silence for too long when Harry coughs softly, pulling Zayn’s focus.   
“Sorry,” Harry says, smiling softly. “You went to another world for a second.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Zayn says, rubbing at the back of his head nervously. “I should get going then. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Harry insists, half-leading Zayn through his flat to the door. He stops in front of it. “Can I give you my number?”

Zayn flushes, the teenager inside of him squealing. He nods, trying to play it cool, but his hands are nearly shaking as he passes Harry his mobile and watches him ignore the possibly twenty messages from Louis and Liam to store his own number in his contacts app safely.

When Harry hands it back, he holds onto it for a second too long. “I’d really like you to call me,” he says. “I don’t care if you call me tonight after dinner with your family; I’ll answer.”

“We did have fun,” Zayn nods, feeling truly awkward for the first time since Harry had approached him in his booth. He didn’t know why Harry had to make things seem so genuine; Zayn wasn’t going to get clingy after a one-night stand. He knew the score of things.

He doesn’t look at Harry’s face again, the shape of his nose and curve of his lip already emblazoned in Zayn’s brain in such a way that no further memorization would be needed. Instead, he shuffles around Harry, opening the door himself and stepping over the threshold.

“Bye, then,” he says, frowning at his shoes.

“I can call you a car, if you’d like?”

“Nah,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “I’m alright.”

“I, really, can’t wait to talk again.”

“Yeah, soon,” Zayn says, mouth pinched as he turns on his heel and walks away.

He hears Harry say a goodbye but he doesn’t turn around, fists clenched in the pockets of his jacket as he rushes down the stairs until he’s at ground level again. The first press of fresh air into his lungs is a welcome relief, and Zayn takes a few seconds to enjoy the lack of alpha pheromones surrounding him as he pulls his phone from his pocket and searches the quickest route back to his place.

The closest tube station is only a quick walk away, so Zayn heads off as he checks the text messages flooding his notifications. There are twenty from the Tomlinson-Paynes alone, ranging from rude to worried, and he texts Louis that he’s fine and on his way home.

 _Come over after girls leave tomorrow_ he gets in response.

Sighing, he agrees, knowing he never really had another choice.

 

 

The next night, Zayn does his best to act normal around his mates. He dishes and even giggles with Louis about how the shag had been, making sure to mock Harry’s come face gently while overall raving about the quality. He’s probably not fooling them very much, as they know him better than anyone but his mum and baba, but they don’t press for more than he’s willing to give as they eat spagbol and salad, Louis pouting into his ice water as Liam and Zayn nurse beers.

“I’m drinking the day this pup comes out,” Louis grumbles, rubbing under his navel.

“Over halfway there,” Zayn offers, attempting to be encouraging though Louis glares at him.

“I can’t wait for you to get pregnant,” Louis says, hand held high in warning. “I’m going to wait for the perfect moment- when your feet and belly are cramping in tune and your back hurts and the pup is doing a jig on your bladder- and then I’m going to be as disgustingly cheery as you are being right now. We’ll see how much you like it, then.”

“All I did was comment on the time left,” Zayn tries, rolling his eyes. “You accuse me of being dramatic, that’s rich.”

“Aww, Lou’s just having a hard time of it because he’s gained almost three stones and the doctor said the average carrier gains only two during the whole pregnancy.”

“Louis, that’s stupid,” Zayn dismisses. “You’re gorgeous.”

“I tell him that all of the time,” Liam says, shaking his head and clearing their plates. “He doesn’t believe me.”

“You’re biased,” Louis responds promptly. Zayn goes to open his mouth but Louis adds, “You are, too,” before he can say anything.

“And you’re glowing just like in all the clichés. You’re the sweetest pregnant omega I’ve seen.”

Sincerity is dripping from every word and Louis seems to believe it just a bit, his cheeks flushing under their tan as he stands and pulls Zayn into the living room. He pushes Zayn onto the couch before settling in at the opposite end, kicking his feet up on an ottoman Zayn went with him to purchase just the week before, the physician having mentioned that elevating the feet would alleviate some of the pain he was experiencing.

“You’re a bit quiet,” Louis remarks after he’s gotten comfortable, clicker in hand as he brings up Netflix and scrolls through the options.

The sound of Liam finishing the dishes flows from the kitchen into the open living room. Zayn hesitates, unsure if he would be wise to respond, or not. “I’m not being quiet,” he eventually settles with, knowing it sounds hollow.

“Harry didn’t do anything to you, right?”

Horrified, Zayn looks up. “No, fuck, of course not!”

Louis lifts his hands in defense, remote still clutched in one. “I just wanted to make sure. You said the shag was good but something seems off.”

“Well, nothing’s off,” Zayn insists. “So you can just drop that, now.”

Liam wanders in a moment later, three mugs of tea balanced expertly in his hands. He passes Louis’ off first and then hands Zayn’s over, settling into his favorite armchair and tucking his feet under his bum as Watson jumps onto the sofa in the too small space between Louis and Zayn, turning a couple times until he settles with his nose pressed gently to Louis’ bump.

It makes Zayn’s gut twist to see, and he bites down against a frown. He’s been jealous of Louis since he and Liam mated and got pregnant, but it’s the sort of envy that manifests itself into feelings of pride and joy more often than not. Now, though, with Zayn so close to his heat and the memory of the gentle way Harry had held him fresh in his mind, Zayn’s jealousy is a bit uglier.

“Something’s wrong,” Louis insists, staring at him.

Zayn curses under his breath, drinking his tea distractedly and trying to school his features. Louis has always been able to read him like a book. “I’m fine,” he finally says.

“You’re into this bloke.”

“That’s ridiculous, he was a hook up. I’ll never see him again.”

“There was this doctor who did a study once,” Liam says softly, cupping his mug in his hands. “About how two people fall in love.”

Zayn leans back into the sofa cushions, tucking his feet under Watson’s legs as he shifts into a better position. “Inform us: how does it work then?” he asks, a bit grumpy but he forces a smile for Liam, who genuinely enjoys sharing the fun and odd facts he picks up.

“Well, he brought two strangers into a room and had them ask each other a bunch of questions.”

Zayn hums to show he’s listening.

“After the questions, they sat in silence, just staring at each other,” Liam continues.

“What?” Zayn asks, startled. He hadn’t expected that. “They just stared?”

“Yep, for, like, five minutes.”

“Then what?”

“They got married six months later.”

“But how?”

“That’s it, that’s the whole study.”

“But,” Zayn frowns, unsatisfied. “When do they fall in love?”

Liam shrugs, grinning.

Zayn shifts again, facing Liam head-on. “Does it happen when they’re staring or when they’re asking the questions?”

“I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What’s the name of this study? I want to look it up.” Zayn makes to tug his mobile out of his pocket, hackles raised.

The fact that he’s distressed isn’t lost on Liam and Louis. The former apologises while the latter just stares intently, a fact which Zayn is aware of as he can see the direction of his gaze as he types in ‘love study’ on Google. He tries to sort through the links that are clearly wrong, but he’s not finding anything.

“You’re upset,” Louis accuses while Liam apologises again.

“’M not upset,” Zayn says, petulant, answering Liam’s insistence he hadn’t meant to ruin the mood. “I just need to figure out this study. What was the doctor’s name? Were they soulmates? Was it an alpha and an omega? What were the backgrounds of these people?”

“They were just average, everyday people. A male and a female, both betas I believe.”

“Where did the doctor running this study find them?”

“I don’t know.”

Zayn wipes at his face, his eyes damp but no tears yet falling. He hadn’t even been aware he was nearly crying.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks, tone worried.

“I don’t know,” Zayn admits. “I think my heat is coming sooner than I thought. I’m a bit on edge.”

“Okay,” Louis allows. “But something in the study still bothers you. What is it?”

“Stories like that never feature two drunk people that meet in a club,” Zayn mumbles, cheeks hot as he avoids their gaze. He’s never been a particularly emotional omega, has always known from his mum and baba’s examples that omegas can be just as stoic and strong as betas and alphas. But he feels near hysterical at the moment.

“Oh, Zayn. Liam, you idiot,” Louis says, kicking out at his mate’s chair.

“What did I do?” Liam asks.

“Zayn’s gone and fallen in love.”

“No, I haven’t,” Zayn protests. He rubs at his face, fingernail sharp along his eyebrow before scratching at his scruff. He feels warm and uncomfortable, and he tugs his feet away from Watson and sets them flat on the ground before rising from his seat. “I have to go.”

“Zayn, Liam won’t talk about it anymore,” Louis promises, standing up albeit slowly.

“It’s not- I’m not falling in love with a one-night stand,” Zayn insists. “That would be ridiculous.”

“Not really. Liam and I started bonding the first night we had sex. We didn’t know it at the time, of course, but it became evident as time went on.”

“What- how did you know?” Zayn asks, hand now pushing at his chest above his heart. He feels like his pulse is fast but he doesn’t know how to calm down.

“Little things,” Liam offers, standing too and coming close enough to place a gentle hand on Zayn’s arm. “Our emotions began syncing just a bit; if he was feeling strongly about something, I would get almost a phantom feeling about it.”

“One day, I got a call from mum that Daisy was in hospital. She’d had an accident and mum was scared so it scared me. I remember hanging up with her and searching for the quickest way home when Liam called me to tell me he just knew I was worried about something.”

“I’d been in lecture hall,” Liam added. “And I just set my pen down and grabbed my bag and left to call him. I drove him home.”

Zayn shakes his head. “That’s just a coincidence.”

“No, it isn’t,” Louis insists. “You know it isn’t because you’ve heard enough people saying the same thing. Sex is powerful.”

“But you knew each other for a long time before you started hooking up.”

“Yeah, but there weren’t a tonne of feelings there,” Liam defends. “Not in that way. We were both with other people when we met, and it wasn’t until we had sex the first time that we even considered anything else.”

“It isn’t like I’ve been having any Harry-linked feelings though. I don’t sense him or anything.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, rubbing at his stomach distractedly. “You’re not usually this stressed, even before your heat. Didn’t you say this bloke was kind of intense?”

“Intense isn’t a _feeling_.”

Louis tilts his head to acknowledge the point. “Either way: are you going to sit and watch a film with us? Because I can’t keep standing and I don’t want you to go.”

“I think I’m going to head out,” Zayn says, ignoring the pouts he gets in response from both of them. “I just want to be by myself for a little.”

Louis shuffles forward, getting between Liam and Zayn and pulling him into a hug, as close as they can get with a full belly between them. Zayn returns Louis’ kiss and then kisses his fingers before putting them to the baby bump and pressing gently.

Once he’s outside, he walks to the bus stop that will get him home the fastest, his phone in his hands. He stares at Harry’s contact information, almost running into a stranger on the street from the tunnel vision of his focus. There’s a few minutes before his bus comes and he lights a cigarette and taps the green button on his phone screen, bringing it to his ear.

Instead of a standard greeting, Harry’s voice cuts through after only a single ring. “Zayn?”

“Oh, hi. Yeah, it’s me.”

“Hi, I’m glad you called.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I’ve been hoping you’d call and I don’t get too many unknown numbers. But, I don’t know. You’ll think I’m crazy.” He laughs, tinny and distant over the connection.

“Not likely,” Zayn sighs, letting his head fall back and blowing smoke out of his mouth quietly. “You’re not crazy.”

“I had this feeling a couple minute ago like you were stressing, maybe. Does that sound completely mad? That I could feel that?”

Zayn takes two quick hits from his cigarette, his hand shaking. He doesn’t answer right away.

“Zayn? Are you still there?”

He hates the nervous edge to Harry’s voice. He exhales audibly, brushing his eyebrow with his thumb. “I’m still here,” he reassures. “And I don’t think that’s crazy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve been. Having some feelings like that of my own, I think.”

“What are you doing?” Harry asks. “You could come by, if you want.”

Zayn sucks the last of the smoke into his lungs, stubbing the filter out on the ground. “I want,” he says. “I’m on my way.”


	4. happy honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zayn wears panties on his honeymoon because I have no sense of decency. Explores a bit of the 'storms turn Zayn on' plot from a previous chapter.
> 
> I've also made a little timeline for this series. Once I get it pretty enough, I'll start posting it at the tops of the chapters so we can all keep track of the time jumps.
> 
> [zayniekins](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zayniekins/pseuds/zayniekins), Jenny and Nicki all asked for honeymoon fic at one point or another. I wrote all of this in the last few hours and spot checked for errors. This is probably as choppy as the other chapters, though. Just a drabble for fun, sorry if any mistakes are jarring enough to pull focus.
> 
> UPDATE: Sandra is too good for this world and made a truly wonderful art piece for this chapter. I am so in awe, honestly.

Louis laughs when he first hears the honeymoon plans. “You’re taking Zayn to Scotland? Were the beaches in the Caribbean all full?”

Harry pouts. “Zayn likes to be different.”

“He also likes to be warm.”

Harry rolls his eyes and pushes at Louis’ shoulder half-heartedly. He’s only had one glass of champagne but he hasn’t eaten since the breakfast his mum had forced down his throat. The fizz is buzzing in his belly, along with the deep thrum of satisfaction he feels now that he and Zayn are officially married.

He touches the new tattoo scarring his wrist, Zayn’s name in Urdu written in his father’s hand. It had been a wedding gift. Zayn’s eyes had filled with tears at the first sight of it, though none fell until they officially kissed as husbands.

Deciding to officially ignore Louis’ naysaying, Harry turns his head and looks around until he spots his mate where he’s dancing with his mum in the middle of the floor. Harry feels his body grow warm at the sight. The July air is thick around them with humidity and Zayn had abandoned his jacket on his chair an hour ago, rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie. Harry’s in a similar state, as are most of their guests, and Harry leaves Louis behind to approach and cut in for a dance.

“Not you,” Harry says, sticking his tongue out at Zayn. “I want to dance with my mother-in-law.”

Trisha and Zayn laugh in harmony, parting ways and letting Harry step in. They turn about the dancefloor slowly a couple of times, not paying any mind to the actual tempo. “What’s on your mind?” Trisha asks, reading his thoughts.

“Louis says Scotland was a dumb idea.” He hears the pout in his voice, knows he sounds like a child, but doesn’t care. He’d kept the honeymoon a secret as a surprise for Zayn but now he’s second-guessing the decision.

“Louis is an idiot,” Trisha says, just as fondly as Zayn often does. “Zayn’ll love it, you know he will.”

“It’ll be cold.”

“Not much.”

“There’s no beaches.”

“Sand sucks.”

Harry grins, in too good of a mood to dwell on it too long. He’s just been made a Malik, officially, and he’s honestly not going to be brought down by much.

“You’re a good boy for my son,” Trisha says, eyes wet. “We’re very happy you came into his life, Harry.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry protests. “It was all Zayn. He had me hooked since the very beginning.”

Trisha opens her mouth to say something but then Zayn is cutting in, less patiently than Harry had to them. He takes Harry’s hands off of Trisha’s shoulders, tugging until Harry’s wrapping them around his waist instead.

“My turn,” Zayn insists. “Thanks, mum, for keeping my _husband_ occupied but I want him now.” Trisha rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest, patting Zayn on the cheek fondly before letting them spin away.

Neither of them had attended any dance lessons before the wedding and it probably shows but Harry doesn’t think either of them is worried about it. “What do you think about Scotland?” Harry whispers, his mouth pressing gently to the shell of Zayn’s ear.

“For- what, for our honeymoon?” Zayn asks, pulling back and tilting his chin up. His mouth looks delectable in the soft lights cast from the edge of the dancefloor and Harry leans in before answering, closing the inch of space between them and claiming Zayn’s mouth as his own. Zayn allows it for a long moment, licking at Harry’s bottom lip, before he pulls back. “Tell me about Scotland.”

“I’ve rented us a little cottage for two weeks in the country near Aberdeen. There’s a path that leads from the front door around a trail and down a rocky cliff to the water. The couple that owns it have the farm next door as well. They invited us around for dinner the second week and they have horses they said we can take out for rides.”

“Horses?” Zayn asks, eyes wide.

Harry lifts a hand, cupping Zayn’s cheek and letting his thumb trace the sharp line of his jaw. “Horses,” Harry confirms. “And goats, I think. Chickens. All the farmiest animals.”

“I can’t believe- you’ve done so much for me, Harry. It’s too much.”

“I did nothing,” Harry protests again. “You brought me into your family, babe. You gave me your father’s name. I would do anything for you.”

“Stop being sappy, I’m going to cry again.”

Harry grins, Zayn reaching up to poke his dimple teasingly.

“When do we go?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. I figured we would make the drive. About six hours.”

Zayn’s mouth twists around a grin. “Can I sleep for most of it?”

Harry grins. “You can do whatever you want, babe.”

 

 

Aberdeenshire is exactly what Harry expected. The spring and summer rains have left the countryside green and lush in their wake, and the drive up is long but beautiful. Zayn’s awake for most of it, nodding off after the second hour for a brief nap, though he’s awake again before long. His hand winds around Harry’s on the shifter, tracing long lines around his wrist.

Harry finally pulls into the drive well past dark, cutting the engine and sitting in silence for a moment. Zayn grins at him, curled up in the passenger seat facing Harry. “We’re here,” he sing-songs, though he seems content to remain stationary for the moment as well.

“Let’s go have sex.”

That gets Zayn moving. He unbuckles his seatbelt and darts out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He finds the hide-a-key under the stone pig like the owners had told them, getting in through the door before Harry’s even stepping from the car. He grabs just one bag from the boot, the one containing the home-cooked meals his and Zayn’s parents had sent up with them. He follows Zayn into the house, letting the anticipation build instead of rushing anything. He stows away the food, double-checking that the front door is locked before finally turning to the house at large.

There are two bedrooms and a bathroom in his line of sight, another small room hidden away from view, he knows. He tugs his long-sleeve t-shirt off over his head, running it through his hands as he kicks off his boots and pushes them to the side next to Zayn’s discarded Converse. He pads down the hall, sticking his head into the first room and finding it empty. Frowning, he walks past the open door of the toilet and turns the knob on the one still closed.

The room is dark, the only window draped in thick curtains, and it takes Harry a few blinks to adjust. His lips part when he finally sees what’s waiting for him: Zayn, undressed to nothing but a tight, lacy outfit. His bony legs look miles long under the high bikini-cut white pants and the tank top he’s got on cuts across his sharp abs in an obscene way.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, eloquent.

 

[ ](http://lovingityeah.tumblr.com/post/151101126848/zayn-wearing-a-wedding-present-for-harry-inspired)

 

“Happy honeymoon,” Zayn says, running a foot along the calf of his other leg. Harry can see how smooth it is over the distance. “You just gonna stand there?” Zayn teases.

“Yep,” Harry agrees, still for a long moment more before finally putting one foot in front of the other and crossing the room in three strides. He climbs up on the mattress, still in his jeans, and crawls between Zayn’s spread thighs. “Fuck,” he repeats, his hands sliding along Zayn’s smoothly shaved legs and up to his thighs.

Zayn hitches his hips up, hiking his legs around Harry’s waist. Harry’s hands slide under his thighs to finger at the edges of the lace panties. “A wedding present,” Zayn says with a smirk, though Harry’s eyes are adjusted enough by now to see the flush in his husband’s cheeks. "Not as permanent as your gift to me, though," Zayn says, running his fingers along the still-healing ink on Harry's wrist. 

"We could do something about that," Harry says with a grin. "Could let me film you in your pretty lace for me."

"Not going to happen. You may have made me your husband but you're not getting this on camera."

Harry pouts but his head is stuck on that word: husband. It still hasn’t settled in his mind. Zayn’s his _husband_ and they’re going to give each other a bond mark, connecting their souls even further than they’ve already entwined. Forever, until the day they die or release each other from their bond- a day that will be worse than death and one that Harry refuses to think about- their souls will be linked. Harry will know when Zayn needs him; Zayn will sense Harry’s pain.

“Tonight?” Zayn asks, reading Harry’s thoughts on his face.

“We can wait until tomorrow,” Harry says, though his heart isn’t in it. “Get some sleep tonight.”

Zayn shakes his head.

“It’s going to trigger a heat,” Harry warns.

“I’ve been through heat before.”

“Not like this. It’s going to be hours and hours of need, maybe even days.”

“You’re gonna help me through it, though, right?” Zayn asks, hands running up Harry’s chest and circling around his neck to pull him down, their hips pressing together deliciously. Zayn pauses when Harry’s mouth is just brushing against his. “My alpha, my husband, my mate,” Zayn whispers. “Gonna give me your knot as many times as I need it?”

“As many times as you need it,” Harry repeats, the scent of Zayn rising in the air around them and teasing Harry’s baser instincts out in full. He denies Zayn a kiss, pulling back until Zayn’s hands fall, once again, to Harry’s chest. Harry’s chain necklaces are hanging from his body, the ring and cross pendants lying flush against Zayn’s sternum. “Are you sure?”

“Bond us, babe, c’mon.”

Harry doesn’t wait for any further prompting. Though it goes against his need, he backs away on his knees until Zayn’s legs fall from his waist. He stands carefully and finishes undressing, pushing his skinnies and pants down his legs as quickly as he can before he’s crawling back onto the bed. Zayn’s thighs part for him again, but Harry shakes his head. “Turn over for me?”

Zayn nods and shifts onto his belly, the lace panties giving the impression of soft curves where he’s normally flat. Harry doesn’t mind, wants Zayn’s arse no matter the illusion it gives. He gets his hands on Zayn’s cheeks, spreading them under the panties and watching the fabric shift with his hold. He tests the elasticity but frowns when he finds he won’t be able to push them aside enough to access Zayn’s hole. He leans in and licks a fat stripe over the fabric, rough against his tongue and, therefore, rough against Zayn’s hole.

Sure enough, Zayn’s leg kicks out at the sensation, though his hole clenches with need. The lace had already been damp with Zayn’s slick but it’s even darker now, Zayn producing more wet with every second that passes. Harry teases a finger along his crack, pressing it in teasingly with the lace. Zayn mewls and clenches again, his hole kissing at Harry’s pointer finger before letting it go.

“I’m gonna take these off, baby,” Harry says, biting at one of Zayn’s arsecheeks through the material. “Do you want to leave your pretty top on for me or take it off, too?”

“Leave it,” Zayn breathes, lifting each leg in turn and helping Harry slip the panties off.

Harry tosses them to the floor before leaning in again, licking without the extra sensation from the barrier. It’s smoother and he can taste Zayn better, but he mostly enjoys it more because Zayn seems to, a rough moan being dragged from his throat as Harry sets about licking him out in earnest.

Intent on getting Zayn as worked up as possible before creating the bond that will set off his heat, Harry lets his hands run along Zayn’s torso, rucking up the fabric of his top before smoothing it back down. He pets at Zayn’s belly and sides, runs his fingers along the bumps of his spine, and pinches at his small, dusky nipples until they were beading and pressing insistently against the lace of his tank as Harry rans his hands over them with the thin barrier between. All the while, he kept his mouth on Zayn’s hole, tongue flicking along and inside the rim as he gathered up all of Zayn’s slick and encouraged his body to produce more and more.

“Harry, please. I’m ready.”

“Gonna mark your arse,” Harry says, finally pulling back. He’s out of breath from his own desperation and he frantically licks at his lips to get all of Zayn’s taste while his hands drag down Zayn’s sides. One hand goes to his hole, the other helping expose it as he presses two fingers inside, gauging the readiness.

“You will _not_ ,” Zayn insists, rocking forward on his knees so Harry’s fingers slip out. He turns around before he or Harry complain, feet planted on the floor and hips hitched up until Harry takes his position dutifully and slips in three fingers. “I’m not going to have our bond mark on my arse.”

“I think it’s a good place,” Harry grins, leaning in to kiss Zayn and share his taste back-and-forth. He trails kisses down Zayn’s chin and along his jaw. Four kisses mark a line down Zayn’s neck before Harry finally begins mouthing at Zayn’s collarbone. “Here okay?” he asks, picking a spot low and out-of-sight but still close enough to a scent gland.

Zayn nods and moans when Harry twists the fingers he has inside of Zayn and bites down on the spot he’s picked, forcing himself to break the skin even though Zayn whimpers once in pain. It’s a fleeting sensation, they’ve been told, the pain like a sharp pinch until Zayn’s pheromones flood to the surface and his adrenaline kicks in. Harry pulls back and licks over the dark mark, pleased to see the clean bite.

“My turn,” Zayn growls, fisting a hand in Harry’s hair and encouraging him to roll over onto his back. He’s meticulous in searching out a spot, kissing and sniffing along Harry’s torso and neck while rocking down onto Harry’s thigh. His cock is blurting precome against Harry’s skin but it doesn’t matter, not when the tickle-tease of Zayn’s mouth is keeping his interest.

Finally, Zayn settles on a spot that mirrors the one on his own collarbone. He presses a kiss there without biting, pushing himself up and shifting so he’s straddling Harry’s waist. He reaches a hand around and Harry feels it close around his weepy cock. Zayn gives him a few perfunctory strokes as if Harry needs to get any harder. Harry runs one hand along the lace clothing Zayn’s belly as his other grips Zayn’s hips, helping him find the perfect angle as he begins pressing himself down, impaling himself on Harry’s cock.

He rocks back-and-forth for a few moments idly, before spreading his legs further and settling fully into Harry’s lap. “Sit up, babe,” Zayn pleads, hands on Harry’s shoulders.

With a bit of effort, Harry complies. He gets both hands on Zayn’s waist to keep him steady, falling back against the headboard as Zayn continues rocking his weight down. With the new angle, Zayn can better reach Harry’s collarbone. He ducks his head, licking and nosing at the skin there.

Before he can bite down, a sharp clap of thunder startles them, Zayn jumping almost enough to pull off of Harry entirely. As Harry holds his breath, listening for another boom, he feels Zayn shiver. “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine just- storm.”

Harry frowns. He knows Zayn likes storms, has seen him staring out the window at one from the flat they share. It isn’t until he watches Zayn lower his mouth back to Harry’s skin and his hips back down on Harry’s cock that Harry realizes: Zayn isn’t _afraid_ of the storm. He’s turned on by it.

Another clap of thunder shakes above them as Zayn bites down, a moan vibrating out of his throat as his hips buck in response. He pulls back from his bite quickly, a small bead of blood following him to the surface. Harry watches Zayn bring a hand up to brush it away, his hips bouncing faster than ever before.

Harry uses the element of surprise and the stone he has on Zayn to push him onto his back, never letting his cock leave Zayn’s hole. He uses his hands to spread Zayn’s thighs into an obscene split, watching his knot forming at the base of his cock as he fucks into Zayn at a fast speed.

Zayn’s moaning and writhing beneath him, one hand teasing his own nipples through the lace tank as his other circles his cock once, twice before he’s coming in a short, fat ribbon that ends in a dribble. Harry makes to pull out, wants to get his mouth on Zayn’s dick, but Zayn squeezes his legs. “Stay in me. Let me have your knot.”

A third sound of thunder, immediately followed by the pounding only associated with hard summer storms. The rain is relentless on the roof and on the window, the slick sounds of Harry thrusting lost to nature. It makes Zayn react strongly again, his eyes closing and breathing getting shallow for a long moment before he’s looking up at Harry. Harry watches as the hand that had been teasing Zayn’s own nipples runs up his body, fisting in his hair and his mouth opens on a moan and he tugs himself to another orgasm with the same hand.

Zayn’s heat is settling in in full, Harry realizes, and he doubles the power behind his thrusts even as he slows down, making sure to dick in deep with every push. He slides out torturously slow before pressing back in, again and again until Zayn is mewling just loud enough to be heard over the storm outside.

One last boom of thunder, this one louder than any of the others, and Harry pushes his knot inside of Zayn, his seed pumping out in thick ribbons even as he knocks Zayn’s hand away from his own sensitive cock to stroke him to a third and final orgasm while they’re tied together.

Harry gathers Zayn into his arms once he has a moment to breathe, pulling them so they’re heads are resting against the pillows. “How long d’you think it’ll last?” Zayn asks, fingers trailing in patterns on Harry’s chest, tangling idly in Harry’s necklaces.

“Probably a bit,” Harry says. “M’body is trying to knock you up.”

Zayn flushes at that, his cheeks growing even darker than they had been from the exertion alone. “I meant the storm,” he says, though he ducks his head to rest on Harry’s shoulder, a smile on his face.

“Oh,” Harry says, grinning himself. “Summer storms usually don’t last very long. I didn’t know they affected you like that.”

“I didn’t either,” Zayn admits around a yawn.

“Get some sleep,” Harry says. “We’ll go again when you wake up.”

Zayn doesn’t nod or otherwise acknowledge him, and Harry realizes he’s already dozed off.


	5. red sweater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jenny said "tom as an old ""flame"" of Harry's" and this happened. 
> 
> as usual, it did not go as i expected. i 100% blame harry. featuring tom glynn carney in his red jumper.

Zayn may be twenty-six and married but he still feels a sense of anxiety shoot through him when he looks up and doesn’t see Harry in the aisle anymore. He closes the door to the freezer, balancing his four frozen mac and cheese boxes in his hands, and sets off to find his mate. He passes the baby aisle and tries to avoid looking at all the things he doesn’t yet need but a movement down the way catches his eye and he turns when he realises Harry’s talking to someone Zayn doesn’t know near the nappies.

The sight of the little, pregnant omega reaching out to touch Harry’s arm makes something ugly flare up inside Zayn’s gut and he realises he’s growling when Harry looks up in concern, green eyes searching Zayn’s face. Zayn clears his throat and forces himself to relax before turning down the aisle, his hands cold from his boxes. The stranger’s fingers have thankfully left Zayn’s husband’s arm but they’re now against the red of his sweater, tucked right under the swell of his belly.

“Zayn, hi love,” Harry says, backing up the trolley so Zayn can deposit his finds. Harry frowns when he sees the selection. “These are full of bad,” he says, lifting a box to read the ingredients.

“They’re what I want,” Zayn says simply.

“Pregnancy cravings,” the stranger says knowingly, shifting the basket he has looped over one arm and showing his own selection of candy and pastries. “My indulgence is sweets.”

“Oh, Tom, we’re not,” Harry begins, eyes downcast before Zayn speaks over him, his voice sharp. “I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh. Oh, god, sorry. I just- Harry was in the aisle so I just… assumed.”

“No, shouldn’t have thought otherwise,” Harry excuses him. “Tom, this is my husband, Zayn. Zayn, this is Tom. He’s from uni.”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Tom gushes, smiling wide.

He’s pretty and pregnant and entirely too happy. Zayn manages only a tight smile before turning to Harry, distracted.  “You were down here first?” he asks in a low tone. “Why?”

Harry’s lightly flushed from his forehead to his throat but he still smiles when he steps forward and brushes his fingers against a package of dummies with sharks on them. “Saw this. Know how much you like sharks.”

Zayn feels his own cheeks heat when Harry pulls it from the wall and hands it over. There’s a whole section of shark-themed toys and packaging and Zayn catches himself eyeing a plush toy wistfully so he turns away and hands the dummies back to Harry. “They’re sweet.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time,” Tom says, clearly feeling awkward. “I’ll see you around Harry. It was nice to meet you, Zayn.” He holds out his hand and Zayn takes it reluctantly, feeling everything in him reject the pregnant omega in front of him for nothing more than the surge of jealousy he makes Zayn feel.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he still replies, trying in a last ditch effort to be polite.

“We’ll call you,” Harry says, slipping his arm around Zayn’s waist and pulling him closer. “Get together for dinner or something.”

Tom nods and waves, slipping past them and towards the baby food.

“Alright, is there anything else we need?” Harry asks, thumbing at Zayn’s hip and leaning in to nuzzle his ear. “Or can I take you back home and shag you?”

Zayn laughs and pushes Harry away, rolling his eyes. His jealousy still sits deep in his gut but he’s comforted by his husband’s touch and scent, his pheromones heavy in the air as Harry comes back into his space and gently pushes Zayn against the trolley. He leans in for a kiss.

“We’re in the middle of the store,” Zayn protests, tilting his chin up for a quick peck before pushing Harry away again. “Water and done,” he promises, taking over the trolley and pushing it forward.

“Then home for a shag,” Harry says, entirely too loud.

“I’ve never met this alpha in my life,” Zayn says to beat the flames from his cheeks as he turns into the next aisle and sees quite a few people scattered about.

“You’ve got my bond mark on your arse,” Harry protests, thankfully keeping his voice low as he comes up next to Zayn and puts an arm around his waist.

“You _wish_.”

Zayn almost forgets about Tom. They quickly decided on which case of water to purchase, Harry recognizing a brand he claims is eco friendly, and then Zayn treks down one extra aisle before they’re finished. He bats Harry’s hands away playfully as he searches for his favourite lip balm.

“Get the red one,” Harry whispers in his ear.

Zayn snorts and edges a nail over the dark red lippy before shaking his head. “It’s not my colour.”

Harry sighs against Zayn’s hair, his breath tickling Zayn’s skin before he touches his nose to the scent gland. “I love you,” he breathes, pulling away and taking over the cart to lead them back to the front of the store.

Zayn’s dizzy for a second, smiling stupidly at the wall in front of him. He picks up the lipstick and turns to follow Harry, startled when he nearly crashes into Tom. “Oh, god!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tom apologises, shifting his basket over his arm. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You’re fine,” Zayn assures, letting his hand fall from over his chest as his heart slows. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Zayn feels guilty when he sees the tight smile Tom offers him as he makes to pass Zayn in the aisle.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says before he can go far. “For being rude,” he clarifies when Tom glances over his shoulder. “You’ll think this is so stupid…”

“Probably not,” Tom says, turning to face Zayn. The corners of his eyes are crinkled again, his smile more genuine. “I get it- it’s always weird meeting an ex.”

“Ex,” Zayn repeats, nodding though he doesn’t comprehend.

“We were only together for a couple years in uni.”

Zayn’s never noticed the buzz from the recessed lighting the way he does right now.

“And then again for a week after graduation but that was just… no better options, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, I don’t think you were rude. Harry’s always said how nice you are.”

Zayn realises he’s still nodding and he stops, licking his lips and shifting his stance. “Right well. Glad that’s,,. That,” he says.

“See you around, Zayn,” Tom says, waving again and turning away, grabbing a generic deodorant stick before he’s out of the aisle.

He isn’t sure how long he stands there staring blankly at the floor. At some point, he feels Harry’s fingers at his elbow. “There you are,” Harry says gently, clearly reading Zayn’s mood. “Oh, are you getting the lippy after all?”

Zayn shakes his head, placing it back on its hook. “No,” he says. “Just looking for the right colour. Are we ready?”

“All done,” Harry confirms. “Left the trolley at the front- let’s go before someone pilfers your mac and cheese.”

Zayn smiles, feeling weirdly cold where Harry has touched. He lets him get a hand on Zayn’s waist, leading him to the front of the store, the two of them dividing the groceries between them to take to the car. “You alright?” Harry asks as they load up the boot, Zayn shoving his bags inside distractedly.

“Yeah, ‘f course,” Zayn says, pushing the milk to the side so it won’t smush the bread. It tilts back towards him and he gives it an evil look. “Stay.”

“You can tell me if something’s wrong,” Harry says a few minutes later, the two of them silent in the car as Zayn fiddles with the mp3 player so he can find a good song.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“I know you’re upset, I just don’t know what about.”

Zayn sighs, thumbing over to Harry’s playlist and selecting the shuffle option. “I’m fine, babe. Promise.”

 

 

Zayn isn’t a snooper and he isn’t a jealous person (for the most part) and he isn’t proud of what he’s currently doing but he isn’t stopping himself, either.

Harry’s plane has just landed in Berlin, a snapchat from Harry still open on Zayn’s phone in the bedroom, and Zayn’s in their spare room, shuffling through boxes and storage containers looking for a label he knows he’s seen before.

“Bingo,” he says when he finds _UNI - FIRST YEAR_ scrawled in thick, black marker on the top flap of a slightly smushed cardboard box. Zayn hauls it from the middle of its pile, paying no mind when the box that had been half-perched on top of it falls off to the other side. It’s heavier than expected so he slides it across the hardwood floors into the bedroom, climbing up to sit cross-legged on the tufted seat at the end of their bed.

“Here we go,” he tells Sacha, who flicks his tail at Zayn’s voice but otherwise doesn’t seem too concerned. The brown tabby perks an ear up when Zayn opens the box but Zayn shushes him. “Nope, this box isn’t for you. You had your chance to care.”

“Meow.”

“Yeah, meow yourself.” _Help, I’m talking to the cat_ he texts Louis. He pushes the open flaps of the box down and holds them there with his thighs.

 _Has Harry even been gone an hour?_ Zayn can read the sass even through seven words. He swipes to call.

“I was going to take a nap while the twins are sleeping.”

“Harry had a serious boyfriend in uni. He’s a cute little blonde and he’s pregnant.”

“Well, uni was a few years ago for Hazza so I don’t think the baby is his.”

“Not the point,” Zayn says, lifting folders of classwork out of the way, looking for more personal items. “He was serious with someone he’s never told me about. They dated for _years_ according to the guy.”

“You’ve met him?”

“We ran into him at the store,” Zayn explains. He finds a few sleeves of photos, thumbing Louis to speaker phone and setting it down. He grabs the photos with greedy hands, opening them carefully and sorting through. Louis grunts and Zayn can hear him shifting around. “He’s all thick golden hair and big blue eyes and fluffy red jumpers. He’s _so_ pregnant, too.”

“How did Harry react to seeing him?”

“He let him touch his arm.”

In a perfect deadpan, Louis says, “Oh no, not a touch on the arm, please tell me you filed for divorce.”

“Shut up. He reacted fine. Introduced him as “Tom from uni” like I should have known that meant an ex boyfriend.”

“Are you sure Harry’s never mentioned him before?”

“He’s always said he’s never had a serious relationship before me.”

“Any chance they weren’t serious?”

Zayn huffs, finding pictures of Tom at last. He looks nearly the same as he had in the store a few days before, young and smiling with his face pressed between Harry’s and another lad Zayn doesn’t know. His cheeks are flushed from drink and his eyes are extra bright and he’s... captivating to look at. Hoping for a caption on the back, Zayn turns it around. Neat, black ink on the bottom corner spells out _Tom, Fionn and I at Bobby’s Grill. January 15th. Wicked cold outside._

Zayn finds dozens more photos of Tom and Harry underneath, mostly silly faces being pulled on nights out. Some are different though: selfies of them alone in their rooms, pictures of each other pouring over their books, one with Tom’s lips pressed to Harry’s cheek. All of the captions are similar, listing the people, the date and a random sentence that only Harry would relate to the memory. It makes Zayn smile even as he sighs, running a nail gently over the cut of Harry’s jaw in one picture.

“Earth to Zayn.”

“I’m here. Looks pretty serious from the photos I’m finding.”

“Naughty ones?”

“Gross, no, shut up. Just. Sweet ones of the two of them. Harry looks… happy.”

“He’s happy with you, Zed. You know this.”

“I know. I’m still not pregnant, though. We’ve been trying so hard for almost two years.”

Louis sighs into the phone. “I know, babe. It’s hard.”

“Not for you,” Zayn says, pouting.

“No,” Louis agrees.

“Maybe Harry would have had a baby by now if he’d stayed with Tom.”

“Maybe,” Louis agrees again.

“With big blue eyes and curly blonde hair.”

Louis sighs again, sounding annoyed. “You’re being stupid and forgetting one thing.”

“What?” Zayn asks, sullen.

“You were engaged before you met him. You were still on the rebound, we thought.”

“Fuck, I know.” Zayn stops on a photo of Tom in bed, covers pulled up to his chin and nose red with an obvious cold. He turns the photo over, eyes wet as he reads _Tommy boy in our bed. October 17th. Spiced cauliflower soup stain on my pillowcase._ “I just thought he meant it when he said he’s never been in love like this before. So stupid, it’s all so stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid. I do think you need to give him the benefit of the doubt: Harry’s never lied to you before.”

“I know.”

“Harry’s in love with you. You’re bonded. That’s not a small declaration. He picked you and you picked him.”

“God, I know. It just sucks.”

“Talk to him about it.”

“I can’t do that!” Zayn puts the photos down to the side, pushing Sacha away with his foot when he tries to jump into the box. “Shoo. This is so… urgh!”

“Listen, Malik, the babies are waking up. I’ve got to go but you need to snap out of this. Call me later once you calm.”

“Yeah, I will yeah, bye bye.”

“Love you. Don’t stress.”

“Love you. Don’t tell me how to live my life.” Zayn blows a kiss and ends the call, flopping back on his bed and groaning in frustration. How can there be an important ex in his husband’s life that Zayn didn’t know about for four years?

Frustrated, Zayn repacks the box and closes the lid, uncaring if it’s in the same order he found it. He lifts it, grunting under the weight, and carries it into the spare room again. He deposits it in the still-empty space, grabbing for the small box that had fallen off earlier and placing it back on top. He makes to tuck them both closer to the wall when the writing on the top box catches his eye. _ZAYN - YEAR ONE_

Holding his breath, Zayn grabs the box in both hands and pulls it towards him, sitting cross-legged on the bare floor and tilting it to open. There’s a dozen or so bundles and items, ranging from menus from the restaurants they went to on their first few dates to a jar of sand from their first weekend getaway to the beach. There’s batches of photos, bound together with elastic bands, and Zayn grabs one of them at random.

The first picture is one of the first they had taken together, blurry from Harry’s shaky hand as he had held the camera phone out to take the selfie. They’re both smiling, Zayn’s mouth open in a laugh and eyes crinkled into thin lines. Zayn eagerly flips to the back. _Zayn and I. March 25. Everything is starting._

Zayn smiles and rolls his eyes at the dramatic caption, feeling his cheeks flush. There’s so many more photos and Zayn looks through all of them in turn, reliving their first year. He feels shocked when he sees how much they’ve changed over the years, their hairstyles totally different and their cheeks fuller now from all of their quiet dinners in. Zayn looks happy in the photos, except one in particular where he’s scowling at the camera, clearly just woken up. His happiness is nothing compared to how Harry looks, radiant and at peace. He’s almost always touching Zayn in the photos, running his hand along Zayn’s shoulders, pressing kisses to Zayn’s cheek or holding Zayn’s hand in his big paws between them as they walk down the street. Most captions are short and sweet, some are more cryptic. _Woke up and missed you_ on a photo of the two of them on the beach, a daytrip they’d taken after one of Harry’s business trips. _Popcorn ceilings and rainbow haze_ on a photo of a sunset, their fingers linked against the drop of the horizon. Zayn doesn’t remember that day but smiles nonetheless. _My mum told me to keep you_ is scribbled hastily on a photo of them with Harry’s family at Christmas that year.

The photos aren’t in order, a fact which surprises Zayn. His husband has always been meticulous, especially with storage as evidenced from all the dating and labeling Zayn sees in the room. He’s nearly at the bottom of the first batch when one picture catches his eye. It’s a selfie Harry took in the mirror one day, his chest shiny from an afternoon run. Zayn’s laughing from the bed, fully dressed but under the covers anyway. He’s barely visible over Harry’s shoulder and Harry’s pulling a funny face. _My one love. September 14. I bought a ring today._

“You idiot,” Zayn mumbles to himself. He checks his pocket for his phone but remembers he left it on the bed. He gets to his feet, taking the photo with him and walks back into his room. The duvet cover is soft and fluffy when his back hits it and he fumbles around the blankets for his mobile before finding it again and thumbing to Harry’s name. He waits for three rings before Harry answers.

“Hi baby.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Harry laughs. Zayn can tell he’s in a cab or something, the sounds of traffic loud behind him and his partner, Niall, chatting next to him, probably on a call or talking to the cabbie. “I’m sure that’s true,” Harry agrees, “but is there something specific I’ve done?”

“You bought a ring six months after meeting me?

“How do you know that?”

Zayn snorts, holding the photo above him to look at it again. “I found your box of photos. Saw the captions.”

“Are you being a snoop?” Harry teases.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“We were having such a great time and I didn’t want to make the wrong move. Everyone told me it was too fast so… I hesitated. Then you proposed to me at your parents’ house so my ring wasn’t needed. You took charge like always.”

Zayn closes his eyes and sighs, missing his husband suddenly. He puts the photo on his heart. “A complete fool and I wish I would have come with you.”

“You’re always invited, baby,” Harry assures him. Zayn can hear the sound of his seatbelt clicking as he adjusts, clearing his throat and lowering his voice. “But I’ll see you in three days and I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah? You’ve got to beat your last record.”

“My record is seven times!” Harry exclaims, forgetting to keep his voice down. Zayn laughs, can see the flush on Harry’s face as he hears Niall laughing in the background.

“The night of seven times!” Niall shouts from beside him. “Hi Zayn!”

“Tell him hello.” Zayn waits while Harry mutters to Niall. “And go do great things for corporate law. The day you come back to me, we’re going for eight.”

“Nine,” Harry says quickly and quietly. “I’m gonna knot you nine times.”

“Big promises,” Zayn teases, feeling his body get tight with anticipation. “See if you can get an earlier flight home.”

“The second I’m done with my meeting, I’m getting on a plane back to you.”

“I’ll wear something pretty.”

Harry laughs. “The green one.”

“Deal. Call me when you’re away from Niall and I’ll give you a little preview.”

“Baby.”

“Bye H. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Zayn smiles when he hangs up, carefully setting the photo to the side before another thought occurs to him. _Where’s the ring?_ he texts Harry. _We bought mine together. Where’s the first one?_

 _Should be in the same box_ , Harry responds a minute later.

Quickly, Zayn scurries back into the spare room, careful to keep his phone in his hand this time as he slips around in his sock-covered feet. He stops in front of the box, landing on his arse as he looks inside. He shuffles the bundles around, feeling the velvet of the box a second before he sees it.

Holding his breath, he opens the box carefully. “Oh, you beautiful, stupid fool.”

The ring is full-on glitz and glam, shiny diamonds in a gray metal that Zayn’s pretty sure is white gold but couldn’t bet on it. It’s… a lot, if he’s honest, way more flashy than the twisted metal band he wears on his fourth finger, but it’s beautiful. Zayn thinks about how he would have felt if Harry _had_ proposed with this ring. On the one hand, he would never have cared the ring Harry used, as Zayn had known early on that he would only ever say ‘yes’ if asked. But, on the other hand, Zayn was very much uncomfortable with Harry’s wealth when they first began dating. The inequity in their bank accounts had been a sticking point for Zayn, as had the easy attitude Harry displayed when attempting to shower his money on Zayn in the forms of fancy dinners, vacations and expensive gifts. Only after Zayn had explained to Harry his discomfort- as well as assured him that, gifts or no gifts, Zayn was Harry’s completely- had the dramatic dates calmed into more sensible ones where the real Harry shone through and the high-powered lawyer took a backseat.

This ring would have been purchased right in the middle of that period, Zayn thinks, and he hopes that his discomfort hadn’t fueled too much of Harry’s hesitation.

He puts the ring box down and lifts his phone, taking a picture and typing out a quick message. _I love you always and would have loved your proposal, no matter what_.

 _I know that, baby_ , Harry responds quickly. _I know that *now*,_ he clarifies a second later.

 _Did you have a speech planned?_ Zayn asks, running a finger along the ring again before slipping it from the box and sliding it on his finger, right above his wedding band. He takes another picture. _How does it look?_

 _I’ll tell you my speech when I see you_ , Harry promises. Then, _Put that back, Malik, I haven’t proposed yet_.

Zayn snorts and types out _Okay_ before putting the ring carefully back in its box and snapping the box closed. He scratches at the velvet for a moment before putting it down on the floor. He closes the storage box and puts it back where it was found, picking the ring up and closing the door to the room on his way out. He stops in their room for a moment, shooing Sacha away from the photograph. “Why must you sit directly on it?” he sasses, checking that it hasn’t been bent before he sticks it in the corner of their mirror on the wall, the same mirror Harry’s using for his selfie in the photo. He then sets the ring box on Harry’s nightstand, tucked towards the wall so the cat won’t feel the need to be a bother.

The phone in his pocket buzzes and Zayn fishes it out as he leaves the bedroom.

_We’re almost at the hotel and I have an hour before dinner. Maybe put the black panties on now and gimme a call?_

Zayn snorts and turns back around, shooing Sacha from the room and shutting the door.


	6. i would drop it on a dime for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I left this for so long! I wrote two exchange fics plus finished and posted the sequel to my Ziam frat story, so I haven't been completely lazy in the past month. (Slightly longer, oh boy). Thank you to everyone who left comments and sent me sweet messages on tumblr, I appreciate every single one.
> 
> I promised Jenny a specific plot item if she hit 50k in her fic and she did (of course, wonder woman) but then I started writing this and the plot didn't exactly... go as I wanted. Oops. I think she'll forgive me though <3\. 
> 
> I expect to resume more frequent drabbles, though there is no plot progression sketched out or anything. This fic will probably never be "finished" in a sense; it isn't a WIP so much as a dumping ground of cute omegaverse Zarry domesticity.

 

 

Harry prides himself on not being a ‘typical alpha’. He was raised in a tightknit family of betas and was a small and somewhat silly child. It was, and sometimes still-is, a surprise that he began presenting as an alpha at the early age of thirteen, though he didn’t experience his first rut until he fully presented as an adult.

Because of his upbringing and because people expected him to inherit the orientation of his parents, he never saw alpha aggressiveness painted in a positive light. Some of his playmates were children of one or more alphas, and they were often the more aggressive kids on the playground. They would pick fights or play games designed to show off some type of skill- be it speed or agility- where Harry would prefer playing on the swings or jumping rope with the quieter children. At times, he’d be coaxed into playing their games and, though he’d always do well, he never really understood the thrill of winning that the other children had.

When he began presenting, earlier than most, he went to his mum in tears. He’d been given The Talk in school the year before, about the changes that bodies go through if they present as omega or alpha- betas, of course, remaining outwardly the same though their senses of smell often heightened. The first sign of a knot had him rushing out of the shower one morning, barely remembering to grab a towel before barreling headfirst into his mum’s arms.

“What ever is the matter, love?” she’d asked, wrapping him up tight in a hug.

“I think I’m alpha,” he had muttered, hating the words. Alphas were bad, he thought. They got into too many fights and only cared about winning. They often smelled, too.

When he told his mum that, Anne had laughed, still hugging him. “Oh, love. Betas and omegas fight just as often and care just as much about winning. Don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t alpha enough, and don’t ever look down on a beta or omega because of how they’ve presented. We’re all humans at the end of the day, love. Biology guides, but does not define, who we will be.”

The words she spoke had made Harry feel a little better. He was calm enough that he even laughed when she added, “And we all smell a bit if we don’t finish our showers. Go on and I’ll have a cuppa ready for you when you’ve finished.”

Knowing how right her words were then, Harry has always kept them in mind. He treats everyone with respect, regardless of their gender or how they’ve presented. He tries to avoid raising his voice or using his size to intimidate others, especially when he is speaking to an omega. He never picks fights with people and always tries his best to be a gracious winner.

And he showers. Constantly.

Even with all of his atypical behaviors, his mate somehow doesn’t seem to notice how unusual Harry is as an alpha.

“You’re not jealous?” Zayn says, smile soft as he leans in to kiss Harry. They’ve been snogging on-and-off for the better part of the past hour, Zahir dozing contentedly in the little bassinet by the bed. Harry’s still amazed every time he looks at their son, four weeks old and entirely perfect in every single way.

Harry answers the kiss, of course he does, before nipping at Zayn’s bottom lip softly and pulling back to look him in the eye. “Why do you say it like that?” he asks. “I’m chill. I’m the most chill.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, hands cupping Harry’s jaw and trying for another kiss but Harry dodges him and flips their position easily and carefully, hands gentle on Zayn’s waist. He’s been handling Zayn especially carefully the last few weeks since the birth, having completely hated watching his mate suffer through the fifteen hours of labor it had taken to bring their son into the world. Zayn’s clearly noticed, snapping during his more irritated moments that he isn’t made of glass, he won’t break, but Harry can’t stop. His instincts are telling him to take care of Zayn; he isn’t going to go against them.

Zahir had been born, finally, through an emergency C-section when the doctors had lost hope in the birth progressing naturally. Harry still remembers the sound of his baby’s heart rate dropping on the monitors, the fear in Zayn’s eyes when the surgeon had explained the need for anesthesia, and the complete feeling of helplessness that he had nearly succumbed to.

In the end, Zahir had been born healthy and big- nearly 10 pounds- and Zayn had woken from the medication with bright eyes and eager hands for his child. All had worked out but it had been terrifying.

Carefully, he holds himself over Zayn in a plank, eyes gauging the way his mate’s body has changed in just four short weeks. Zayn’s always been fit and had gained minimal weight during the first two trimesters of his pregnancy, but Zahir had grown at an almost alarming rate during the last twelve weeks. Zayn had looked like he was carrying a beach ball instead of a baby. Four weeks post-partum and Zayn’s somehow lost nearly all of the weight, though his stomach and waist are soft where they were previously rock hard.

Before he can pick up the conversation again, having been momentarily distracted by the hint of C-section scar he sees where Zayn’s jumper has ridden up, Zahir makes a snorting sound as he begins to wake up.

Immediately, Harry rolls away from Zayn and stands over the bassinet, carefully picking Zahir up and cradling him. He’s always noticed how large his hands are, palms big and fingers long and thin. He knows now why that’s so: his hands were made to hold his pup. Though they’re large, they’re perfect. His palm fits gently to help Zahir’s neck support his head. His fingers are long so they may curl around Zahir’s bum in his nappy. His absolute everything was made to keep this little human safe and protected.

“Someone needs a change,” Harry says, tucking Zahir safely into the crook of his arm as he carries him across the room to the chest of drawers that’s doubling as the changing table. He makes faces while he sets Zahir down and goes about taking care of the situation at hand. He wrinkles his nose when the smell hits. “How can someone so perfect make a smell like that?” he asks, loud enough so Zayn will hear.

Zayn laughs behind him and Harry hears the creak of the mattress as Zayn shifts around. Harry notes their running out of wipes in the open package, making a mental note to bring another in from the toilet. They’re quickly running out of room in Harry’s flat, if he’s honest. The one-bedroom was fine when it was just him and his constant business travels. Having Zayn move in had made things a bit more cramped, though they were both pretty organized people in general so they had been able to make things more ‘cozy’ than ‘cramped’. With a baby, though, the amount of things in the flat has somehow tripled and they’re in desperate need of a new home.

When Harry turns around with a newly clean baby boy in hand, he means to tell Zayn that he’ll get with an estate agent in the morning to start looking for some place bigger but then he sees that Zayn is sleeping. He stops short. Zahir is wiggling around in his daddy’s hold, and Harry brings his free hand up absentmindedly to stroke his fingers along his bare belly. He’s sleep-warm and not yet cranky, so Harry decides to leave the room quietly before they wake baba.

Rhino makes to get up from his dog bed near the corner of the room, but then he turns his head to look at Zayn. Harry pats his leg quietly, getting the dog’s attention. After another conflicted moment, Rhino decides to follow Harry and the pup. Harry smiles, scratching at Rhino’s ears as they leave the room. He shuts the door quietly behind them. Rhino stays on his heels as he heads into the kitchen and grabs a treat for the dog, tossing it and laughing when he catches it.

“Someone’s got a birthday coming up,” Harry says, patting Rhino’s head again. “Gonna be a year old, boy. D’ya think you’re done growing yet?”

Rhino wags his tail, tongue hanging out of his mouth until Harry stops petting him and then he noses at Harry’s thighs, looking for attention. Harry twists away, laughing still, when Zahir gets irritated by the lack of attention being paid to him. He lets out a little baby cry, sounding wet and stuffy. Harry and Rhino both stop horsing around, turning their heads to focus on the pup in unison. Zahir’s eyes are open and he goes quiet as he looks up at his daddy, though he still kicks his feet around. His mouth is opening and closing, thin lips smacking.

“Hungry, Zed?” he asks, shifting and turning to open the fridge and grab a bottle pre-mixed formula. He sets it on the counter, expertly balancing Zahir in his arm and bouncing him slightly as he sets it into and starts up the bottle warmer.

Rhino noses at the dry food in his bowl as Harry gets Zahir settled in his bouncer seat. He hates the thing, would rather hold his pup in his arms 24/7, but Zayn insists on them getting Zahir used to it. It does help out when Harry needs to stand and grab for the milk out of the warmer. He immediately trips over a corner of the rug in the dining area, knocking his elbow into the doorframe and startling both the pup and puppy. Zahir cries at the sound and Rhino turns to check on him.

“I’m alright, it’s okay,” he says, grabbing the bottle quickly and testing it on his wrist as he carefully makes his way back to Zahir. When he’s holding his baby, he’s as graceful as a ballerina. But, the second his hands are free, he’s back to his usual clumsy self. He settles on the floor, crossing his legs under his bum and tugging the chair a little closer. Rhino settles down next to him, head heavy on Harry’s knee and tail thumping the floor as they feed Zahir together.

Zayn finds them like that fifteen minutes later, eyes sleepy soft.

Harry frowns. “You were hardly asleep long at all. Go back to bed.”

Zayn pouts but otherwise ignores him, grabbing a few biscuits from the tin next to the stove before slipping down onto the floor next to Harry on his unoccupied side and resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. Zahir turns his head, nipple slipping from his mouth when he sees his baba. He grins, milk clinging to the corner of his lips. Zayn nibbles at a cookie, offering the second to Harry, who declines. Date cookies are not his preference but Zayn can’t get enough of them since having Zahir.

“Hi,” Zayn coos, reaching his hand out so Zahir can grab his finger. “Hi, baby boy,” he repeats.

“What woke you up?” Harry asks, kissing Zayn’s temple. “You slept through me tripping and banging my elbow.”

“What are we gonna do with daddy, huh jaan?” Zayn asks Zahir, grinning. “Always falling over. Danger to himself.”

“Hey,” Harry says, dragging the word out. He can’t help the smile on his face. “What woke you, though?” he repeats. “We all tried our best to be quiet.”

“Phone call.”

“Unless it was Louis, I’m going to kill them. You’ve barely been sleeping lately.”

“I sleep fine.”

Harry huffs but doesn’t protest the blatant lie any further. Zayn has _not_ been sleeping well and he is going to have a word with Louis about all of the phone calls. Zahir is disinterested in the bottle so Harry hands off the burping cloth to Zayn, who is already unbuckling Zahir from his bouncer. Harry stands and cleans the bottle immediately before setting it on the rack to dry. He hears Zahir burp and does the same silly cheer he does every time, Rhino’s nails clicking on the floor as he stands and jumps around.

Zayn laughs and the house is suddenly full of happy family sounds.

 

 

It’s an hour later, Zahir back asleep in his bassinet, when Harry remembers the phone call.

“Do you think we should talk to Louis and Liam about all their calls?”

Zayn looks at him sideways. “Have they been calling you a lot?”

“No, they mostly text me but Louis has been calling you. You’re always on the phone.”

Zayn closes the book he’d been skimming through, turning a bit to his side to face Harry fully. He’s wearing a frown, his expression one of utmost confusion. “I call Louis with Zahir questions but I don’t know the last time he called me.”

“He called earlier?” Harry asks.

“No, he didn’t.”

“You said you woke up from a phone call.”

“But I never said it was Louis.”

Now Harry’s curiosity is piqued. “Who was it, then?” Zayn doesn’t answer right away, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Zayn?”

“Chad called.”

Instantly, Harry feels his face heat as his blood begins boiling at the mention of Zayn’s ex. He feels the tension stiffening his limbs. He feels the urge to shout. “I’m going to take Rhino for a walk.”

“Harry-“

“This is completely unrelated to what you’ve just told me.”

“Harry-“

“I’m fine. I’m not upset at the fact that your _ex-fiancé_ called you out of the blue and you tried to hide it.”

“Come off it. I didn’t try to hide shite.”

Zahir makes a sound and Harry rolls off of the bed, stepping over the bassinet only to find him sleeping still. Zayn follows him, pressing himself against Harry’s back. He rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist.

“I hate that you’re upset with me; that’s why I didn’t tell you right away.”

Harry sighs, linking his fingers with Zayn’s for a long moment before using his hold to uncross Zayn’s arms and push them, gently, away from him. “I’m going to go for a walk.” He turns to face Zayn, thumbing at his chin before leaning in for a quick peck on the lips. “I need some fresh air.”

Zayn frowns but doesn’t protest. Harry whistles and heads out of the room, pausing when he realizes Rhino isn’t following him. He turns. Rhino’s up from his bed but hovering near Zayn and the pup, seemingly unwilling to leave. He whistles again. “C’mon boy, we’re gonna go for a walk. Baba and baby will be okay without us for a few minutes.”

With one last look at Zayn, as if Rhino is highly doubting Harry’s words, he bounds over to Harry with a hint of his usual enthusiasm. It isn’t until Harry’s clipping the lead to his collar that he starts to really get excited, spinning in circles until Harry’s shoved his shoes on and is heading out the door with him.

He keeps their walk short, irrationally anxious when he’s away from his family. If not for the fear that Zayn will need him when he’s too far away he would be in the car right now, pulling onto the interstate and driving the hour and a half to Chad’s house in Coventry.  He’d rip his knot off with his bare hands if the arsehole lived closer.

Rhino, sensing Harry’s distress and probably anxious to get back to the family as well, does his business quickly before tugging Harry back in the direction of home. Harry still feels anxious energy flowing through him and thinks that he’ll do a quick workout on the stairs up to his flat to burn it. When he gets inside, however, it’s to find Zayn in the living room in his pants and one of Harry’s jumpers, two cups of tea steaming on the coffee table next to the baby monitor while he sits with his feet tucked under his bum in the armchair. Harry unclips Rhino and watches him dart straight into the bedroom to be near the pup before he himself heads over to the sofa, plopping down.

“I didn’t do anything wrong by answering the phone,” Zayn says, picking up a mug and holding it in his hands without taking a sip. “I don’t like the way you made me feel about it.”

“Oh, duck,” Harry sighs, ignoring his own cuppa for now. He reaches across the space between them, smiling when Zayn holds out one of his own hands. His fingers are warm from the ceramic mug. Harry brings Zayn’s hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before turning it over and kissing the palm. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know that I overreacted and I know that I was being stupid.”

“And jealous,” Zayn cuts in, though his frown isn’t as severe anymore. “Even though you were just talking about how ‘chill’ you are.”

Harry pouts, still holding Zayn’s hand. “That’s not fair. This is the exception.”

“He just called to say congratulations. Saw a picture of us and Zahir on Facebook.”

“You’re friends with him-“ Harry starts before he sees the death glare his mate shoots at him. If looks could kill...

“I’m _not_ , you unbelievable tosser. Chad and I were together for three years, though, and we have mutual friends. He must have seen it that way.”

“I’m-“ _sorry_ , he’s about to say, but two apologies in two minutes over the same stupid thing probably won’t work. Instead, he pouts hard and tugs at Zayn’s hand gently until he’s standing from his chair, setting his mug down next to Harry’s untouched one, and crawling up onto the sofa, sitting half in Harry’s lap. Harry wraps his arms around Zayn’s slight frame, holding him close and leaning in to press a line of close-mouthed kisses down Zayn’s neck to the small mark on his collarbone that signifies their bond. “You’re the best thing about my life and I’m sometimes scared of you leaving me.”

Zayn scoffs but doesn’t say anything, letting Harry continue his apology.

“Now, with Zahir in the picture, I get even more possessive. I feel all these urges inside of me. Even when I take Rhino for a walk, I worry that I’ll be too far and you’ll need me and I won’t be able to get to you in time. I felt like every person was looking at you and him, wanting to take you away from me when we went to the store the other day. It’s stupid, I know,” he adds when Zayn makes another sound, “but I can’t control the thoughts even when I know they’re irrational.”

“It’s the alpha in you.”

“I’ve been working for over a decade now to squash those alpha tendencies. I grew up hearing all these stories about alpha jealousy and alpha pride and, when I presented, I told myself I’d never be like that. I was going to be different. But I think… I think maybe I’m not so different at all.”

Zayn shifts so he’s sitting further back, one hand coming up to cup Harry’s cheek and stroke his hair back from his face. “You’re kind of dumb,” he says, but his voice sounds happy so Harry doesn’t know how to respond. Zayn continues before he can. “Most of the stories you hear like that are things on the news or rumors in school; I know, I heard the same rumors about how omegas are desperate, needy sluts who will always need an alpha to take care of them. Rumors like that spread amongst kids who don’t really know any better. But then I grew up, and I met people of all genders, presentations and orientations. They were all different, and not one of them was a stereotype. And one night, not very long after I had broken up with my fiancée, I met a big, gangly alpha male.”

“Was he cute?” Harry asks, smiling when Zayn rolls his eyes.

“He definitely thought he was,” Zayn returns evenly. “But he was definitely different from other alphas I had known. He took me home with him but didn’t pressure me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. He tried to make me breakfast-“

“-don’t mention that, so embarrassing-“

“And he didn’t fight it when I fled in a panic. And I felt his emotions the entire next day, the intensity and slight anxiety he was feeling, thinking he’d never see me again. And that made me come back.”

“Why did you? Part of me thought I had scared you away by being such a mess.”

“Well, besides you being _really_ good in bed, you were also kind and gentle with me. And I needed someone who was going to be careful with my heart, because I wasn’t sure if it was ready to be given away again but I had to take a chance. Literally, had to. Everything inside of me was pushing me back to you.”

Harry lifts his hand to Zayn’s chin, tilting it up and pressing a kiss to Zayn’s mouth. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, even if you are an arsehole sometimes.”

Harry grins, taking the win. He shifts them a bit so he can grab his now lukewarm tea, sipping it happily as Zayn stretches for the clicker, his jumper riding up and exposing the line of his hip. When he settles back against Harry’s chest, the fabric folds in on itself, leaving the skin bare for Harry’s thumb to begin brushing against it as he watches Zayn flip through the channels on the telly.

It’s quiet for a moment, the tv down low. It’s dark outside but Harry doesn’t know the time, having been off work with Zayn and the pup leading him to losing his usual schedule. They sleep when they’re tired and wake with Zahir, eating meals at odd hours and sometimes staying up all night. It’s a terrible habit, Harry knows, one that will be hard as hell to break when he begins reporting back to the office in two weeks.

“How did he sound?” Harry asks.

Zayn digs his elbow into Harry’s belly. “Shut up about him.”

“I’m just wondering,” Harry protests. “Did he sound… normal about things? It has been a few years since you guys broke it off. Was he jealous?”

“I’ve heard that alphas aren’t really that jealous.”

Harry hums. “Sounds fake. Did he sound like he’s devastated that you met someone who’s so devilishly handsome and has a huge knot to boot?”

“Oh my god,” Zayn says, giggling and making to move away from Harry. “You’re ridiculous. ‘A huge knot’. You’re average, at best.”

“Oi, I will not stand for lies in my house,” Harry laughs, keeping Zayn close but letting him turn so they’re face-to-face, Zayn’s hips resting in the space between Harry’s thighs. “Did he sound like a man who lost the absolute best, most beautiful person in the entire world?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, though Harry can see the flush to his cheeks.

“I will try to be better about my jealousy.”

“I don’t mind a little bit,” Zayn says quickly, flushing deeper. “S’nice to feel wanted. Guess that’s a little stereotypical of me, too.”

Harry grins, kissing Zayn’s forehead before Zayn settles his head on Harry’s chest just over his heart, facing the telly again. Harry carefully lays back against the pillows, setting his cuppa back on the table. He wraps one arm around Zayn’s back and strokes along his spine over the jumper as Zayn captures his other wrist in his hands, tracing the black ink of his own name in Urdu that Harry got tattooed as a wedding surprise. It’s a habit Zayn has when trying to fall asleep, a version of counting sheep as he had told Harry before. Tracing the familiar lines is soothing to him and, sure enough, his fingers stop moving a moment later as he lets the exhaustion he’s been carrying sweep him quickly to sleep. Harry follows a few minutes later, the baby monitor silent beside them and Rhino on pup duty in their absence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a repost. I had put up this chapter awhile back but took it down almost immediately because I wasn't happy with some things. I went home from work today with the worst sinus headache and some nausea and got so bored I decided to pick at this and put it back up. Fair warning: my eyes have been in a lot of pain and I was at the point of wearing sunglasses to help with the glare for part of this. The rewrites/newly added parts haven't been looked at, not even a little.
> 
> Also, it gets filthy for about a minute or so which I honestly do feel bad about because this was supposed to be a cute chapter about the jealous to-be-alpha of the family but it didn't stick to that plan, like, at all. The filth ends a little abruptly but I still like this chapter enough to put it back up and hopefully leave it this time.
> 
> I'm working on a part two to the 'meeting Gabe' storyline so that should be completed soon. Thanks for reading, as always, and thanks for the lovely tumblr messages about this 'verse.

With Harry being away often for work, the primary responsibility of dropping the pups off and picking them back up from preschool falls on Zayn. They go together most mornings when they’re both home- though Zayn sometimes begs off if he needs a bit of a lie-in- but it just makes sense that Zayn sets the rhythm for mornings since he’s usually the one in charge. He doesn’t mind the task even if he isn’t a morning person. They live close enough to the school to walk it when the weather permits and the drive is easy on days with rain or cold.

The worst part, even worse than the early call time, is the quiet, still air in the flat when Maya and Zahir are gone. Even though they’re both in nursery for only half the day, the hours usually drag by. Harry assures him that it’s important for the pups to learn how to socialize and respect structure but Zayn suspects Harry is just as lost without them and isn’t looking forward to when their schooling with start in earnest.

Missing them is hard enough but Zayn also worries. Zayn’s always been a bit shy, himself. As a kid, he would hide his face in his father’s knees or his mummy’s skirts because he thought that if he couldn’t see the strangers looking at him, they couldn’t see him either. He would open up to his aunties and uncles but would clam up around his cousins or other children, nervous at a young age that they wouldn’t understand his quiet tendencies and wouldn’t treat him nicely like the adults did. He grew out of it around the time Waliyha was born. Once he assumed the role of big brother, he became more confident. He wouldn’t go out of his way to socialize, of course, but he could make friends and find playmates.

As an adult and a father now, it should be easier than ever to be social. It isn’t socially acceptable for him to hide behind Harry when they stand around with the other parents in the mornings. In fact, it’s almost weird for him to _not_ force himself into other parents’ conversations and groups during the waiting time.

The first year, when it was just Zahir going off to school and Maya sticking around for the day, Harry and Zayn had befriended a group whose children were in Zed’s class with him. Zayn would distract himself with Maya when the pressure to be social would feel like too much, metaphorically hiding behind her skirts now, but she also served as a wonderful focus. Everyone loved her curly brown hair and her rosy cheeks. She was an outgoing little girl, always chattering on to anyone who’ll listen, even if she wasn’t using proper words, and it allowed Zayn to relax and let the focus be on his daughter. Now that she’s in school and making friends, and the children in Zahir’s class have all moved up with him, the parent groups seem to have doubled as Zayn is obliged to interact with parents from both levels.

He knows that he’ll have someone to talk to, but he still spends most mornings half-psyching himself up for idle chatter and town gossip for the twenty minutes before classes begin and then three hours of silence in his home until he can go collect his babies and talk to them about their days.

 

 

It’s an unseasonably warm morning in mid-March when Zayn decides to walk the kids to school. He’s been up all night trying to force a painting out of his mind and onto the canvas but it isn’t working and he thinks getting some exercise in will help. He gets the pups up a little earlier than usual, nearly four year old sleepy Zahir resisting for a few minutes before finally rolling from his bed and shuffling into the toilet. Maya is a fireball, as usual, a bit pouty for the first few seconds or so before she begins remembering all the plans she and her little friends had made the day before.

“Ana and I gonna play in the sandbox together and we’re gonna see how many worms we can find in ten minutes and we’re gonna eat our snacks and we’re gonna have reading time….”

Zayn just nods and smiles in acknowledgment. His eyes are heavy from lack of sleep and he is feeling exhausted by his days away from being three years old daughter’s limitless energy.

Rhino’s dancing around the kitchen in excitement, knowing that he’s invited on their walks as well. “Settle down, boy,” Zayn mutters, patting him on the head before turning back to the worktop and finishing the toast he’s made for brekkie. Maya and Zahir are already seated at the table when he turns around again, a sippy cup of milk in front of Maya and apple juice in front of Zahir.

“Eat up while baba goes and changes,” Zayn says, setting their plates in front of them. “Rhino’s gonna make sure you finish all of your bananas and he’s not going to help you guys, okay?”

All three of his pups cast doubtful looks at that and Zayn barely resists laughing, trying to appear stern, before he leaves the room quickly to change out of his tattered paint clothes. By the time he’s tugged on a loose pair of jeans and one of Harry’s old uni jumpers, both bananas are half gone and Rhino’s trying to lick his chops subtley.

“Nice try, you two,” Zayn says, grabbing another banana each and putting them in their snack bags. “Your teachers aren’t going to let you switch these out,” he says, knowing that he’s actually telling the truth this time.

“Bananas gross,” Maya says, slipping from her chair and running up to Zayn, wrapping her arms around his leg and pouting up at him. She’s the spitting image of her daddy when she does this, except for the taste in fruits and veg clearly.

“Daddy loves bananas,” Zayn reasons.

“Daddy not here,” Maya points out.

“Maya, they’ll make you strong,” Zahir calls out from his seat at the table. That’s what Harry and Zayn are always telling them, reminding them to eat their fruit and veg to grow big and strong.

Zahir might be parroting his daddy’s words but he doesn’t seem to take them too much to heart. Zayn watches as he shifts in his seat, pouting but opening his mouth to show his sister that he’s eating the slightly mashed bananas. His fingers are sticky when he takes them out of his mouth and Zayn shuffles around the kitchen island, Maya still clinging to him like a barnacle. He wets a wash rag while Zahir sounds a battle cry and hits at his chest like Tarzan, thankfully with his clean hand. Maya growls and grunts like Bruce Banner Hulking out and Zayn resigns himself to the fact that his children are probably going to always be a little bit weird.

“Go finish your breakfast, May’,” Zayn says.

“I hate breakfast,” she says, which Zayn knows is an absolute lie. He ignores it and picks her up under her armpits, swinging her a bit so she laughs before he sets her down in her chair.

“Eat,” he says.

His phone vibrates on the counter and Zayn reaches for it excitedly, knowing it’ll be Harry looking to Facetime before school. “It’s daddy,” he tells the pups, swiping at the screen to answer the call. “Hi, babe.”

The lighting is terrible where Harry’s at, the corner of a window barely visible in the background but everything else dark and shadowy. He looks tired but he’s smiling. “Hi, love. How’s your morning?”

Zayn rolls his eyes and pulls the phone back to pan it across the breakfast table. “Your children aren’t a fan of bananas,” Zayn says with little emotion in his voice, knowing his husband will overact regardless of how the fact is presented to him.

“Hi, daddy!” Maya chirps from her spot at the table, brazenly feeding Rhino a bite from her plate. Zahir is finishing his juice but he sets his cup down and wipes his face with his bare hand, waving to Harry with the other.

“Hi, babies!” Harry says, dimples deepening though his brows are still furrowed. “Baba said you don’t like bananas?”

The pups pull faces in unison, both shaking their heads.

“But- bananas are so good! And they’re gonna make you big and healthy!”

“I told them all of this, babe,” Zayn says, his words falling on deaf ears.

“Bananas are so great! They’re portable, they’re resilient, they’re….”

Zayn sets the phone down on the table, propped against a vase, so he can leave without listening to his husband’s rant about the best qualities of bananas. He’s heard it before.

The quasi-mud room at the front of the flat is a bit colder than the rest of the home when Zayn heads in there to check that everything is ready. He nudges a few pairs of shoes out of their places where they’re tucked in, straightens their coats on their hooks and grabs their backpacks down. He heads back into the kitchen, catching the tail end of Harry’s story.

“I think you guys need to try them again. Daddy’s telling you that they’re good.”

Maya and Zahir are both staring at the screen of the phone, eyes a bit glazed over, and Zayn bites back a laugh.

“Okay, I think it’s time to get going,” he says, picking up the mobile and turning it to see Harry again. “Zed, will you help Maya brush her teeth? I’m going to finish putting your snacks together.”

Zahir may be wee but he recognizes the chance to escape. He scoots down from his chair and helps Maya, taking her hand and leading her into the toilet. Zayn glances at his husband.

“Y’alright?”

“Disappointed in their lack of good taste buds,” Harry says, pouting at the screen. “They must get that from you.”

Zayn knows he’s being ridiculous but he feels a pang of loneliness hit his gut like a rock. Harry notices, of course, or maybe he feels it in their bond, because his pout turns more serious and he squints at the screen. “Are _you_ alright?” he asks.

“Miss you,” Zayn says. “Hate Monday mornings and I miss you.”

Harry grins at that, soft and sweet. “Oh, my love,” he says. “I miss you, too. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

Zayn nods, closing his eyes and nodding again. “I know. Good timing, too, because I think my heat is coming early.”

Harry’s expression changes again, his pupils dilating as he licks his lips. “Baby-“

“The pups are coming back,” Zayn says quickly, hearing the sounds of their little feet hitting the floor. “Come say bye bye to daddy,” Zayn tells them, squatting down and bringing the phone out in front of him so they can all see.

“Bye, babies,” Harry says, pulling his own phone back so they can see him waving. It’s still dark where he is but they can see him well enough. Zayn presses a kiss to Maya’s hair when she reaches out a hand for the screen, waving excitedly. Zahir cuddles into Zayn’s side, doesn’t like saying goodbyes even if it’s just over the phone, but he picks his head back up to offer Harry a small wave.

“That’s my beta,” Zayn whispers, kissing his dark curls as well. “Love you,” Zayn says to the camera, pursing his lips in a kiss and waiting for Harry to follow suit before hanging up on him. He steals a moment to cuddle with his pups before Rhino’s nosing at his elbow, reminding him of the time.

“Let’s go, you guys,” Zayn says, standing back up and patting Rhino’s head in thanks. “I’ve got your snacks all bundled up and in your backpacks.”

“Baba, is there an extra-“ Zahir starts to ask.

“Yes, Zed, I’ve put an extra kiss in there. One from me and one from daddy.” Zahir grins.

It takes less time than expected to get everyone in their jackets and shoes, Zahir putting Maya’s mittens on for her while Zayn pulls a knit cap over Zahir’s head, tugging it to cover his ears as well. The weather is mild but the walk could still be a little cold, and Zayn would rather have them be overdressed than under. He slips his own coat on, grabbing Rhino’s lead and tucking it into his pocket. He holds the two small backpacks in his hands while he herds the pups outside in front of him, shutting the door behind him and locking up carefully.

 

 

The walk over is quick, Maya ditching her mittens halfway through but stowing them away in her pockets responsibly. She gets tired quickly, or possibly loses interest, so Zayn hauls her onto his hip and lets her chatter to him in her half-baby talk, half-grown speak. Zayn clips Rhino to his lead once they’re closer to the school, leash laws and all, but Rhino doesn’t mind. It isn’t like he cares to get too far from his family anyway, and he never pulls when Zahir’s holding onto him.

The second the playground is in sight, Maya is kicking and pushing at Zayn to get him to let her go. “Ask nicely, Maya,” he chides.

“Baba, _please_. I want slide.”

He gives her the go-ahead, taking her backpack from her and following behind slowly until he’s stood on the woodchips, watching her climb to the top of the smaller slide and cheering when she swooshes down to the ground. Zayn’s got Zahir’s hand in one of his own, feeling his grip tighten when a mum and her daughter walk past them to get to the swings. “You don’t want to go play, jaan?” he asks. “I’ll push you on the swings.”

Zahir shakes his hand and moves closer. “Stay with you and Rhino,” he says.

Zayn lifts his free hand in a wave when he sees some of the parents he usually stands with. They must be able to tell he and Zed aren’t feeling particularly social because they just smile and wave in return, one mum waving to Zahir in particular. His son politely waves back with the hand holding Rhino’s leash but then turns to face Zayn’s legs, hiding away for a little. It’s such a familiar motion that Zayn’s almost surprised that it wasn’t him hiding away, and he lets go of Zahir’s hand to run his fingers through his son’s dark hair where it’s peeking out from underneath his knitted beanie.

One person who doesn’t know how to read Zayn’s body language and wouldn’t know what Zayn’s feeling if it punched him in the balls is Parker Winston, a man so odious that his name is the _least_ pretentious thing about him. He’s always been slightly overbearing with Zayn, likes to push into his space and flirt a little too aggressively for Zayn’s comfort. Zayn would have thought that having Zahir with him would put Parker off but it doesn’t seem to, as the alpha comes over after just a moment or so of Zayn being at the school.

“Morning, Zayn,” Parker says with a smile. He smells like too much aftershave, some pheromone enhancer that never smells as appealing as it promises, and Zayn forces himself to not pull a face.

“Good morning,” he answers politely enough, crossing one arm over his chest so his left hand can grip his right bicep. His right hand is still on Zahir next to him, stroking the baby hairs at the back of his neck soothingly. Zahir doesn’t look up to see who has come up to them, just wraps his free arm around Zayn’s knee. Rhino glances back at them but he’s busy watching Maya and another little girl take turns going down the slide, growling once and whining when Maya goes a little too fast.

“Your husband not around again?” Parker asks.

“Harry’s working,” Zayn replies shortly. Rhino makes another low sound in his throat and Zayn takes his lead from Zahir, tugging it gently and shushing him at the same time.

“Seems to do that a lot.”

Zayn looks down at the ground to avoid letting Parker see the face he can’t stop himself from making at that idiotic statement. He isn’t entirely sure what part of having a job Parker finds to be so confusing but he also doesn’t want to cause a scene at his children’s school.

“Where is he this time?”

“Paris,” Zayn answers.

“The city of love.”

The silence after his statement drags out for a long time, long enough to be noticeably awkward but Parker doesn’t let it deter him. Instead, Parker lets out a loud sigh, untucking one hand from his pocket and reaching out to graze Zayn’s arm. “Hey,” he says, even as Zayn shifts his arm back and out of Parker’s reach. “Let me give you my number.”

“Why?”

“Just, you know. If you need to talk about anything, you can call. I’ll always listen.”

“What would I need to talk to you about?” Zayn asks, eyes narrowing.

Parker opens his mouth to say something but then Zahir shifts so he is in between them.

“Baba?” he asks, little voice loud, especially for him.

“What’s up, baby?” Zayn asks, crouching down and pushing Zahir’s knit hat back to see his face.

“Did you put a kiss from daddy in my snack box?”

Zayn smiles. “Yep, remember? I told you that before we left. One kiss from each of us, promise.”

Zahir nods. “I remember.” He glances up at Parker and then back to Zayn in front of him, still speaking loudly. “When- on the phone- when we were talking to daddy today dady told me to tell you something.”

Zayn smiles and pushes a lock of fringe back, tucking it under the beanie. “What did he say?”

“He told me to tell you that he loves you and he has a surprise for you when he comes back home.”

“He does, huh?” Zayn asks, eyes crinkling as he smiles at his son’s adamant nod.

Since the day he was born, Zahir has been a clingy, jealous little bub in the sweetest way. He’s always protective of those he considers to be _his_ \- _his_ baba, _his_ daddy, _his_ sister. Zahir’s usually shy around adults- twice over when it’s Parker- but his decision to speak up now is clear. Zayn knows when his son is displaying that possessive, protective streak.

“Did he tell you what the surprise is?” Zayn asks, standing again when the school bell rings.

Zahir shakes his head and pouts.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out, then.”

Zahir grins and reaches up, laughing when Zayn lifts him into his arms and presses a kiss to his cheeks. “Go queue up for your class. I’ll get your sister and stay until you’re inside.”

“Bye, baba. I love you.”

“Love you more,” Zayn says, setting him back down and letting him run off after hugging Rhino quickly.

Zayn bends to grab Maya’s bag, looking up and feigning surprise when he realises Parker is still standing there. “Did you need something?”

“It’d be nice for that boy to have his father around more.”

The complete nerve.

Reigning in his immediate rage, Zayn rolls his eyes and puts his free hand on his hip. “I’m not interested in giving you my number,” he says, keeping his voice low out of awareness that other parents and their children are milling around. “If there’s anything that we ever need to speak about outside of school hours, it will be arranged with both my husband and your wife aware and present. If you approach me again for anything that isn’t directly related to your children and mine, I will tell my husband and let _you_ deal with his inexhaustible jealousy.”

Parker swallows audibly.

“Good bye, Mr. Winston.”

Zayn turns and heads closer to the slide, where Maya and her friend are coming towards the school. “Hi, baba!” she says, holding her arms out so Zayn can swing her pack over her shoulders.

“You’ve got everything?” he asks her, noting the bouncy curls flying in the light, early morning breeze.

“Yep!”

“What about your hat?”

Maya looks up as if she can see the top of her head, hands going to her hair and patting it with confusion. “Hold on.” She turns and rushes back to where she had cast it aside earlier. “Got it!”

“Good girl,” Zayn says, picking her up for a kiss. “Be good in school, too. I don’t want your teacher telling me you aren’t getting along with anyone.”

“Owen’s a mean boy,” she says with a pout.

“But Maya’s a nice girl,” he reminds.

She nods and forces a smile. “I am.”

Zayn gets in line for her classroom, unwilling to stop cuddling her close just yet. She scrambles to get down when the teacher opens the door and Zayn lets her go with another goodbye and kiss pressed hastily to her curls. He stands there for a long moment after they go inside before turning with Rhino and heading back to the flat.

Rhino’s more insistent than usual, tugging at his lead and wagging his tail, and Zayn just laughs and follows his brisk pace. “What’s up with you?” Zayn asks the dog once he’s back inside the flat, closing the door behind them and hanging his jacket on the first hook, the one he always uses. He hangs Rhino’s lead as well, shuffling his shoes off and kicking them into their slots before he realises the second hook in from the left is also occupied: Harry’s black peacoat is hanging neatly from its cloth loop, a bit of chill still held in the fabric when Zayn runs his fingers against the wool in confusion.

It only takes a moment of mild wonder before Zayn starts smiling and turns on his heel, finding Harry stood quietly in the middle of the hallway, a grin so big on his lips that his dimples probably hurt.

“You absolute arsehole,” Zayn says, rushing forward to practically through himself into his husband’s arms. He hugs Harry tightly, arms around his neck and one leg lifting until Harry’s hand fits under his thigh and pulls him up so he can wrap his legs around Harry’s waist. He ignores Rhino where the pup is dancing around their feet, barking and yipping in excitement, and just focuses on the warmth and calm settling in him from his mate’s return. “Zahir said you had a surprise,” he mumbles into Harry’s shirt collar. “I didn’t expect this.”

“I missed you guys so much,” Harry says, one hand leaving Zayn’s thigh to cup the back of his head, fingers threading through the long, thick strands that Zayn’s been meaning to cut, the locks long enough to begin curling at the ends.

“It was only two weeks but it felt like a lifetime,” Zayn says softly, ignoring the tears he feels burning his eyes and throat from the overwhelming emoitons he’s feeling himself combined with the senses he’s reading from what Harry is feeling. “We’re coming along with you next time.”

“What about school?” Harry asks around a laugh, his voice sounding wet and making Zayn cling tighter like a little barnacle himself, telling himself that he isn’t going to cry.

“Fuck school.”

“Baby.”

Zayn sniffs, pulling back a little to look at his husband’s face. He lets his feet fall back to the ground, Harry’s now free hand going to his waist and slipping under his shirt to touch his skin. “Okay,” Zayn allows, “maybe we won’t skip school. But we’re coming with you for the weekend, at least.”

Harry’s smiling is still blinding, his green eyes dark with unshed tears and a beginning reaction to Zayn’s impending heat. “I’m not going anywhere for a bit, this time,” he says, voice deep and soothing. Zayn’s missed the sound of his voice without the tininess of a mobile phone connection.

Along with the sound of his voice, Zayn’s missed the taste of Harry’s lips. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, biting down a dramatic gasp when Harry fists his fingers through Zayn’s hair and holds his head still for a bruising kiss hello. He lets Harry take what he’s searching for only for a moment, mouth lax and giving until he wants to fight back a bit, pressing up on his toes and threading his own fingers through Harry’s somewhat knotty curls, tugging at his hold until Harry quiets and slows down. Zayn uses the advantage he has to direct the kiss, letting his tongue sweep along Harry’s lips and inside his mouth as if he’s searching out the lingering taste of his time away.

The hint of cinnamon toothpaste explodes across Zayn’s taste buds and he wrinkles his nose and pulls back. “Were you hiding out at Lou’s until I left for school?” he asks, knowing the Tomlinson-Paynes are the only ones of their friends who keep that kind in stock.

Harry grins sheepishly, ducking his head for another kiss. “I took the red eye but then realised the pups would be too excited to go to school. I crashed there for a couple hours until I could come here.”

Zayn pouts. “You’ve been this close to me for hours and I didn’t know.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Harry reasons, stroking his hand along Zayn’s spine. “Wasn’t it worth the surprise?”

Zayn nods, losing his pout to another beaming grin. “You’re still an arse, though.”

Harry laughs, a bright and sweet sound. “It was worse for me, I think. The second you mentioned your heat was coming on, I started sensing it myself.”

With a start, Zayn feels the effects of his heat hit him low in his gut. “Harry, don’t-“ he warns when his mate dips his fingers below the waist of his trousers.

“Don’t we have time until pickup?” Harry asks, mouthing along the edge of Zayn’s jaw. “I think I can do a lot with three hours.”

“You can do a lot with three minutes,” Zayn exaggerates, tilting his head back so Harry’s mouth trails down his neck and over the bond mark colouring Zayn’s collarbone. The press of his teeth against the mark sends a spark down Zayn’s chest and straight to his stomach, making him groan and step up on his tip toes in an effort to get closer to his mate. “Harry, please,” he says, changing his tune just as easily as he and Harry both knew he would.

Harry starts moving, taking small steps backwards until he’s falling back onto their bed. Zayn barely retains his footing, letting Harry bounce against the mattress and shift until he’s lounging against the pillows at the headboard. Zayn shifts from his left foot to his right, biting his lip as he watches Harry get comfortable. His knot is already chubbing up in his trousers, a bulge pressing his tight jeans to a tent that makes Zayn’s mouth water. He wants nothing more than to crawl up on the bed and follow Harry to the head, kissing, licking, and biting his way from Harry’s navel to his mouth. But he had purchased something special for Harry’s return, had thought he’d save it for the weekend, but doesn’t see a reason why he can’t wear it now.

“I’ve got a surprise, myself,” Zayn says, his voice cracking in nervousness. They’ve played like this plenty of times but Zayn feels hesitant almost every time. He knows it works for them, works very well for them, so he pushes any nerves out of his mind and smiles instead.

Harry’s eyes are narrowed. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Zayn turns and heads to their chest of drawers, grabbing something from the top left and taking it into the toilet with him. He slips out of his clothes quickly, knowing that a few hours with Harry alone will skip past him like a minute. He’s determined to take advantage of every second they have.

The panties are simple, black and cotton. They hug his hips tight and cut across his arse cheeks, giving the impression of thick curves where there really isn’t much. Harry’s never complained, though, and Zayn slips the sheer gold nightie over his head with a smile. He combs his fingers through his undercut before deciding it’s a lost cause. He gives himself one last look in the mirror, glancing over his shoulder to check that the back of the nightgown isn’t riding up, before stepping out of the toilet and into the bedroom again.

Harry’s completely naked on the bed, one hand stroking himself lazily as he watches the door like a hawk. He visibly swallows when he sees Zayn and his cock kicks where it’s in his hold. “Baby,” he whispers where he’s sat with his back to the headboard.

Zayn grins, stepping across the room and climbing up the bed. He lets Harry reach out for him and pull him closer so Zayn’s knees are either side of Harry’s body, straddling his waist and letting Harry’s cock blurt precome against his panties. “Don’t have to ask you if you like it.”

“I like you in anything,” Harry agrees, sliping his hands underneath the hem of the nightie. His hands run along Zayn’s spindle legs, up and over his thighs before he grabs at Zayn’s arse over the panties and uses his hold to drag Zayn even closer for a kiss.

Zayn’s heat is settling in, a stronger urge than usual inside him making him want his mate’s knot. He’s breathing as if he’s gone for a run, gasps of air as Harry nudges aside the cotton panties to drag his fingers through Zayn’s slick. He teases touches along Zayn’s taint, his thumb pressing to Zayn’s hole, and Zayn’s overactive hormones rush through him in a wave as he finds his first orgasm easily.

“That was fast,” Harry growls as he drags his mouth along Zayn’s neck, pushing his thumb inside so Zayn has something to clench down on. It’s an awful tease since Zayn’s body knows he has a knot available to him, but he rides out the aftershocks for a few seconds before it passes.

First heat orgasms- and second and third when he’s with Harry- are usually quick and close between. Harry teases another one out quickly on the back of the first, letting Zayn slip further into his heat. “How far do you want this to go?” Harry asks.

Zayn pauses, shaking a little from his heat and his constant desire. Harry wipes his fingers on the sheets next to them before running both of his hands along Zayn’s sides over the gold nightie.

“I’ve got you,” he promises with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to Zayn’s lip. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want your knot,” Zayn says dumbly.

“You’re gonna get it,” Harry says, thrusting his hips up so Zayn can feel how hard he is where he presses against his panties.

“Want a baby,” Zayn says. “Want to have another baby.”

Harry pushes Zayn back gently, just enough to see his whole face. “Yeah? Are you sure?”

Zayn closes his eyes and presses down against Harry’s cock, grinding against it. “Maya’s gonna be three in two days,” he says with a pout. “She already acts fifteen. I want a little baby.”

Harry tugs Zayn’s cotton panties down, first to one knee and then the other before pulling them away completely. “You want to have a baby,” Harry repeats, pulling Zayn closer. Zayn nods as Harry coaxes him to spread his legs further. He can feel the stretch in his thighs already and he clenches around nothing as he feels Harry’s cock rub against his hole. “I want to give you fifty little babies.”

Zayn laughs, arms wrapping tight around Harry’s neck as he pushes back against Harry’s cock until he feels it start to slide inside. “I’ll take one for now.”

 

 

Zayn shoves a beanie over his wet hair when it’s time to get the pups from school. The shower helped with most of his heat pheromones but the feeling is still lingering, clinging to him lightly, and he rubs a hand under his navel.

“Stop that or we’re not getting the pups together,” Harry chides. Like the hypocrite he is, though, he presses up to Zayn’s back and replaces his mate’s hand with his own. “Think we made a baby?”

Zayn smiles. “We can try again later, just to be sure.”

Harry presses a smile of his own to Zayn’s temple in a kiss before grabbing their coats and Rhino’s lead. They walk together quickly, Harry eager to get to the little ones, and arrive at the school twenty minutes before doors open. They stand directly between the doors for Zahir and Maya’s classes, Zayn wrapping his arms around Harry while his mate keeps pawing at his stomach.

“Stop that,” Zayn mocks, pretending to pull away. Harry growls teasingly and Zayn lets Harry pull him back into a hug. “The other parents are staring.”

It isn’t entirely a lie. The few parents that are as early as them are glancing their way every so often, though Zayn doesn’t think it’s on purpose or done with any particular interest. Out of the corner of his eyes, though, he sees Parker walking up to the door. Quickly, Zayn presses a kiss to Harry’s lips, keeping it gentle and close-mouthed but holding the pose long enough that he’s certain Parker sees before he pulls away.

“What was that about people staring?” Harry teases after a second, licking his lips and ducking down to nose at Zayn’s scent gland behind his ear.

“Eh, let them.”


	8. Chapter 8

Spring forces its way through the dragging days of winter as it always does. With the windows open, the flat seems to come to life after the silence of the past few months. From the birds chirping and neighbors going about their days, the sounds flooding their home make Harry feel like he’s outside constantly.

He’s stood at the sink, rinsing their breakfast dishes while he watches Zayn outside on their cramped balcony, smoking his morning cigarette down to its filter as he sips at his tea distractedly. Harry’s eyes drift over the fantail tattoo he’s so familiar with, a spot on Zayn’s shoulder pulling his focus. He bites his bottom lip as he realizes he left a mark the night before, the faint impression of his teeth nothing more than a soft bruise from his vantage point.

Deciding their cups can wait, he dries his hands off on a towel and slips out the sliding door. Rhino greets him eagerly, his bottom wiggling as if it’s been longer than five minutes since they last saw each other. Harry grins and pats him on the head easily, sliding up behind Zayn and pressing a kiss to the bruise he’s been focused on.

“Yeah, I thought you got me last night,” Zayn laughs, tipping his head back and pursing his lips for a kiss that Harry immediately gives him. “Thought we talked about maybe knocking that off.” From anyone else, it would sound like a scolding. From Zayn, though, Harry can hear the warmth in his voice. He grins and ducks his head for another kiss.

Just then, a crash sounds from inside the flat, followed immediately by the sounds of two children rushing to accuse the other of making the sound.

“It wasn’t me-”

“I didn’t do it-”

“Dad, Zahir pushed me-”

“No, I didn’t, Maya was running-“

Harry sighs, fighting to keep a smile off his face. “Your turn,” he says.

Zayn pushes off from the balcony rail easily, walking away with Rhino at his side until the clear sound of a baby crying cuts through the small window from the room next to the kitchen. “Your turn,” Zayn mocks, glancing at Harry over his shoulder as he slides back into the house.

Jawhar’s room is still the same soft pink it was when Maya came home from the hospital almost four years before. Harry steps across the fluffy green rug laid out across the wood flooring, bare toes sinking in to the fluffiest parts. Jawhar spots him through the slates of his crib immediately, baby whines turning into gurgles as he recognizes his daddy.

“Hey, baby boy,” Harry says, lifting him from his crib gently. He sets him down on his changing table, making silly sounds as he handles the nappy situation quickly and efficiently, rewarded with a smiley, clean baby once done.

 He kisses his youngest son’s cheeks as he fends off curious baby fists, scalp still sore from the last time Jawhar had gotten ahold of his curls. “’M surprised you slept so long,” Harry admits in a low tone, cradling him in the crook of his elbow as he heads into the kitchen. “Maya and Zahir were being so noisy at breakfast, but you slept right through it, didn’t you?” When Jawhar babbles as if in answer, Harry smiles and repeats himself. “Didn’t you? Yes, you did.”

“We should get more serious about looking for a bigger place,” Zayn says as he comes into the kitchen as well, Maya on his hip.

Harry pouts. “This place is plenty big.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “We’re sleeping on a sofa and our room is illegally split into two for Maya and Zahir.”

Ignoring him, Harry pulls out a container of baby food for Jawhar, a mix of mashed banana and pureed avocado that always makes Zayn pull faces. Sure enough, he sees two identical looks of disgust when he turns back around. “I’m not making either of you eat it, so you can just wipe those looks off of your faces.”

“Sorry, Haz,” Zayn says with a grin at the same time Maya says, “Sorry, daddy,” and holds her hands out for Harry to take her.

“Daddy’s feeding your brother, he’ll hold you after.”

“When is Jawhar going to be able feed himself?” Maya pouts, tucking her face into Zayn’s shoulder as her arms wind around his neck. Her brown curls fall across her flushed cheeks, her features much more like Harry’s than either of her brothers.

“You couldn’t feed yourself when you were a baby,” Zayn points out, diplomatic. “Daddy made you all sorts of things.”

“Like what?” she mumbles, face still hidden.

Done with spooning out Jawhar’s breakfast and putting the rest away for his lunch later, Harry grabs a spoon and settles into his seat at the table after putting Jawhar into his highchair. “Your favorite was pears and sweet potatoes,” he says as he begins feeding Jawhar, who takes each bite eagerly.

“Nuh-uh,” Maya responds, pushing her hands against Zayn’s chest for leverage as she turns to look at Harry. “That’s gross.”

“You used to love it,” he insists. “Would let me make choo choo sounds as you ate.”

“Daddy’s lying,” she tells Zayn, though she sounds unsure.

“Maya Patricia, that isn’t nice.” Zayn’s voice is firm and Maya’s eyes get rounder in surprise.

“I didn’t mean it bad, I promise,” she says. She turns to look at Harry again. “Daddy, I didn’t mean it bad.”

Harry grins, beckoning her over. She wiggles in Zayn’s hold as he sets her down, and then she rushes over to Harry, climbing onto his lap. “I know you didn’t mean it bad,” he tells her, kissing her curls. “I might have some old videos of you when you were a baby. Maybe after breakfast, we can look for them.”

“I already ate my breakfast. I ate all of it.”

“I know, you did a great job. Do you want to help me get Jawhar to finish his, too?”

“Can I hold the spoon?”

Knowing the mess it will undoubtedly make, Harry nods and hands over the spoon, helping her wipe off some excess before letting her feed it to Jawhar. As their youngest is easily the most even-tempered of their children, he doesn’t even hint at fussing while his sister feeds him. If anything, he smiles more, reaching out his hands to her in between bites.

“Can I burp him, after?” she asks when the bowl is almost empty and Jawhar is slowing.

“I think it’s best if baba and I do that part,” Harry says gently. She shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. She lets Harry take the spoon back after a moment, swiping the sides of the bowl quickly to get a last spoonful and directing it into Jawhar’s mouth. He lets Maya take the bowl and spoon over to Zayn where he is finishing the breakfast dishes Harry had left behind. She comes back with a wet towel for Harry, who wipes the mess of green off of Jawhar’s face and hands, blowing a raspberry on his cheek once he’s clean. He gets a blanket in place on his shoulder in case Jawhar needs burping, though he’s been going some meals without it now that he’s sitting up on his own a bit.

He lets Maya take his free hand as they make their way down the hallway, stopping in the big bedroom that’s split down the middle, one side for Zahir and one for Maya. Zahir is sitting on his bed, reading one of the books Harry’s mum had brought him for his fifth birthday the week before. “Hey, buddy,” Harry says, leaning against the frame.

Zahir looks up at him, giving them a small smile when he sees his brother and sister in the doorframe as well. Where Maya is all smiles and quick words, with Jawhar seemingly taking after her, Zahir is reserved and quiet like his baba. If it weren’t for him having Harry’s eyes and nose, Harry would think Zahir was a direct clone of Zayn alone. As it were, Harry doesn’t take the seeming disinterest to heart, knowing Zahir sometimes needs to be coaxed from his shell.

“We’re going to look for some old videos in the storage space. Would you like to come with us?”

Zahir starts to nod, then glances down at his book. “Can I bring this? Grandma Anne gave it to me and I want to finish it before we call her tomorrow.”

“There might not be the best light in there, but you can bring it,” Harry agrees. “Put your shoes on and help Maya find her jacket. I’m going to drop your brother off to baba and we’ll go.”

Excited, Zahir jumps up and comes to him, taking Maya’s hand and leading her to their closet. Harry hears him ask, “Where’s the last place you had your coat?” as he walks way, grinning.

Zayn’s wiping off his hands when they come into the kitchen, and he holds his arms out for Jawhar easily. “I think the clips are on a USB. We pulled them off of our phones before, I remember that.”

“Hopefully I grab the right one,” Harry teases, crowding into Zayn’s space.

Zayn meets his eye evenly, a smirk on his face. “Don’t pretend like we have any naughty videos.”

“We should,” Harry insists, leaning in to kiss Zayn, mindful of the squirmy baby between them. “Been telling you since the beginning that we should make some. Not too late.”

“Three kids later?”

“Absolutely.”

Zayn rolls his eyes as he pulls away, but Harry sees the flush on the back of his neck and knows his mate is more affected than he wants to let on. He brushes a kiss to Jawhar’s baby curls, soft like silk against his skin, before he backs away and goes to find his own shoes and coat. Zayn’s in the living room once he’s dressed, Zahir and Maya in front of him as he zips their jackets. Jawhar is on his stomach in his playpen, drooling against the ear of a stuffed bunny the Tomlinson-Payne’s had gifted him in the hospital the day he was born.

“We’ll be back in a few minutes,” Harry promises, smacking a loud kiss to Zayn’s cheek and leading the oldest two out the door and across the car park to the storage sheds lining the edge of the apartment complex’s property.

~*~

What is meant to be a ten minute search at the most turns into a two hour long exploration of all the boxes they’ve accumulated since moving into the flat with Zahir when he was just nine months old and Zayn was already expecting. Maya and Zahir have found treasure after treasure in the form of old toys and games they’ve long outgrown. When Harry points that out to them, though, they insist they want to bring the things back for Jawhar to enjoy.

Finally, Harry agrees they may each bring back two items of their choosing. He doesn’t care which they are, but he makes them set their pickings out on the step into the shed while they clean up the mess they’ve made, then he locks the shed back up and leads them into their house. The USB that had inspired the trip is tucked safely in his pocket, and he gets their TV all set to play a couple videos he’s chosen while Zayn whips together a quick lunch and Maya shows Jawhar the lego blocks she’s brought for him that he definitely isn’t yet old enough for.

Harry doesn’t want to break her heart, though, so he lets her amuse herself and just hopes she forgets about them before he has to intervene. Zahir is curled up in his favorite chair with Rhino on the floor next to him, nose buried in his book. Sometimes Harry catches him mouthing out some of it, but Anne had picked a great book for his reading level, and Zahir doesn’t ask Harry to help him with any of the words.

They eat in the kitchen together, Zahir reluctantly putting down his book for the twenty minutes it takes them to scarf down sandwiches and fruit before Harry is shepherding them into the living room. Jawhar goes down for his nap in his playpen, able to sleep through any amount of noise typically, and Zayn and Harry bracket Maya and Zahir on the sofa between them while Harry brings up the first video.

It’s Zahir on the day they moved into their flat, Zayn holding him proudly as they walk through the rooms, showing them each to him as if he had any idea what they were saying.

“Was Zahir really that small?” Maya asks.

“Even smaller,” Zayn assures her. “You’re in this, too.”

“I am?” she asks, eyes wide as she looks around on screen for a glimpse of herself.

“See that little bump on baba’s belly?” Maya nods. “That’s you when you were inside me.”

“Like Jawhar was?” she asks.

“Yep, just like Jawhar was. You and your _bhaiya_ were all in my belly at one point.”

She falls silent at that, still watching the screen intently.

The next video features Maya in the hospital and coming to her pink-painted room for the first time, a set of lungs on her that she’s been determined to show off since day one. She’s crying or fussing in nearly every frame of the video, but Harry is smiling from ear to ear and Zayn looks gloriously happy beneath his obvious exhaustion. Partway through the video, Harry fumbles the camera as he takes Maya from his mate’s arms, letting Zayn hold the camera as he rocks her in his arms. Almost immediately, she goes quiet for Harry. He looks up at Zayn. “I’m her favorite,” he says.

“Daddy, that wasn’t nice,” Maya reprimands him.

Zayn chuckles, kissing her temple. “Don’t worry, daddy paid for that one.”

Harry flushes, ignoring Maya’s further questions as the next video starts. This one shoes the sweet potato and pear mash he used to love making for her. Sure to his word, she’s eating it eagerly, reaching for the spoon every time Zayn pulls it away. They’re all laughing on camera, even Zahir, who isn’t even two years old yet at the time.

“It still sounds gross,” Maya insists once the video is over.

“Maybe I’ll see if Jawhar likes it and you can try it, too. Might change your mind.”

“We’ll see,” she says, diplomatic like her baba. Harry can hear the dismissal, however, and he laughs and shoos her from the sofa.

“Go play for a bit,” he encourages her, watching as she takes off into her room. A crashing sound follows her, a quick “I’m okay” shouted afterwards, and Harry and Zayn laugh again. “Just clean it up, whatever it was,” Harry calls out.

Zahir slinks back into his room with his book again, and Harry settles along the length of the couch, head pillowed in Zayn’s lap. “Let’s have another one,” he whispers.

Zayn’s hand, which had been carding through Harry’s curls gently, freezes against his forehead. “What?”

“Let’s do it, c’mon.”

“You cannot be serious.”

Harry pouts up at him, upside-down. “Are you saying you don’t want my babies, Zayn?”

“Haz. I’ve had your babies. Three of them, in fact.”

“So, let’s have another.”

“We can’t, we don’t have any room for them. Babies need space.”

“We’ll buy a house.”

“You don’t want to move,” Zayn reminds him.

“We brought our family home to this house,” Harry concedes. “I don’t want to lose the memories this place carries. But I want a home you would be proud of. I want a home big enough for anything we want; more kids, more pets, whatever. I want a kitchen big enough to impress your mum.”

“You’re just saying this because you want another baby,” Zayn accuses, though he’s smiling.

“I am shameless, but not that shameless,” Harry defends himself. “I want a house with you, a home we can grow with.”

Zayn’s eyes drag away from his and focus on Jawhar’s playpen across the room. Harry can see his gaze grow soft, and he grins. “I think you want another baby,” he accuses.

“They just grow up so fast,” Zayn pouts. “He was supposed to stay my baby forever and he’s already so big. He’s going to be saying ‘baba’ any day now.”

“I think he’ll say ‘daddy’ first.”

“We’re not making this bet again,” Zayn laughs, turning back to Harry. “You’re already zero for two. Soundly defeated. You said ‘best out of three’ when Zahir chose me.”

“Best out of five, now,” Harry cuts in. Zayn’s eyes grow wide and a flush stains his cheeks even darker. “Best out of five,” Harry repeats.

“You haven’t even convinced me to have four and yet you want to start talking about five?”

“Only if it’s a tie,” Harry allows. “And I don’t think I need to convince you about a fourth. I think you’re already wanting it, picturing it: carrying my baby.”

“Our baby,” Zayn corrects automatically.

Harry lets it go, but the caveman in him protests ‘my baby’ again silently. He leans back in and presses a kiss to the sharp jut of Zayn’s jawline. “Give us another baby,” he whispers against Zayn’s skin.

Zayn exhales on a shaky breath, and Harry can smell how he’s affecting Zayn again. “The kids,” Zayn says, voice low.

Knowing Zayn is right, Harry pulls back. He runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath.

“I’ll think about it,” Zayn says after a moment, when they’re calmer and the flush has receded from his cheeks. “In the meanwhile, maybe you should call your mum and see if she can take them for the weekend.”

Harry grins and jumps off of the sofa quickly, slipping on the hard floors in his sock-clad feet but recovering before any damage is made. He’s got his phone out of his pocket when Jawhar starts to wake up from his nap, cooing at the stuffed bunny still clenched in his hand as he looks around for his parents.

“Your turn,” Harry calls out over his shoulder as he taps his mum’s contact name and brings the phone to his ear.


	9. this is halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jenny wrote this marvelous, fantastic, absolutely amazing chapter for us and I am so excited!! I cannot get enough of this 'verse and love this chapter more than any other (no, I'm not biased). Make sure you give her lots of love so she writes more for us since I am, clearly, not getting it done. [Chapter on Tumblr](http://queenxzee.tumblr.com/post/152565297353/because-for-some-reason-i-promised-iamleighbot-a)

 

 

 

 

 

Harry always used to have a sort of love/hate-relationship with Halloween. When he was little he loved to dress up, to put on little shows for his family in the living room, whether it be him as a prince saving his teddy bear from being taken by aliens, or a pirate sailing the seven seas, with the sofa serving as his ship of choice.

Anne would go with him and Gemma for trick or treating, and Harry loved to get sweets almost as much as he loved getting compliments for his always very elaborate costume, courtesy of Mrs Styles herself. When him and Gemma got a bit older, they used to go themselves, sometimes bringing along some friends, and sharing the sweets between the two of them once they got home like the good kids that they always were.

But when it came to night time, and the tv guide was suddenly overflowing with scary movies of every kind, Harry’s love of Halloween had to come to an end. No matter how many times Gemma begged him to stay up to watch a film with her, Harry wouldn’t budge.

As he got into his teens, still dressing up and going to parties that served alcohol, and Harry couldn’t join in on the talk of the newest horror movie that all his friends were dying to see, he finally sighed a breath in defeat and went with his mates to the cinema, a nervous fluttering in his stomach the whole day. The movie turned out to be quite gorey, and Harry was scarred for life. Or at least a couple of years.

At least until he met Zayn.

And Harry found that sitting at home on a dark October night with a bowl of popcorn in his lap and Zayn’s hand in his as they watched Night of the Living Dead with the rain pouring down outside, wasn’t actually so bad. The costumes were few and far between at this point, but the two of them managed to go to a few parties back in the day, dressing up in matching gear and having a grand old time. When they came back home and Zayn revealed another little costume under his party one, just for Harry’s eyes to see, the holiday became even better. Like most things, when Zayn came along, really, (and Harry tells him this on a regular basis, Zayn always rolling his eyes with a fond smile and telling him just how much of a big sap he is) everything just fell into place.

When the blessing of fatherhood finally arrived, and the leaves started to fall off the trees, Harry couldn’t wait to put Zahir in his very first Halloween costume. A little monkey suit fit well with Daddy going as George of the jungle in a loincloth much too revealing for the cold season, before Zayn had to object for obvious reasons, one of them being the fact that no man of his was going out to freeze his bollocks off while simultaneously getting ogled at by strangers. Harry didn’t mind. But he let Zayn put Zahir in a lions costume, the two of them trying their best not to die of the adorableness once it was on.

“See? You still match.” Zayn had said with a happy smile, stroking over the big furry mane surrounding Zahir’s little head, and Harry had had to kiss him. Like he always did.

 

 

The bigger the family got, the bigger became the deal of the holiday, just like all the other ones in the year. They were more like projects than anything else, elaborate planning to make the kids as happy as humanly possible. But Harry and Zayn enjoy it just as much nonetheless. It’s different now, just like everything else when you become a parent, and no less a parent of three. It’s a lot to deal with, but they make it work, the two of them making a truly terrific team. And their children are angels, which makes everything even a little bit more easy.

Most of the time. When Harry doesn’t need to yell at them for running away in a wild flurry of mittens and scarves flailing through the pumpkin patch.

“Maya! Come back!” he shouts in as nice of a voice as he can, seeing his five year old rush away to the bigger pumpkins further down the rows and rows of fruits in the big patch, the one they’ve gone to for the past two years, once they moved into their house. It’s a bit of a drive, and Harry has just about locked the car before his daughter is sprinting away.

Maya turns around immediately at the sound of her father’s voice and runs back just as wildly, a spring in her steps and arms waving at her sides like a little fairy, the one that she will be for this years celebrations, after much consideration. She’ll most likely end up being something else for half of the day, just like the year before when she was a scary ghost with a tiara and a wand in her hand. Harry is prepared for everything, as usual.

“You have to hurry daddy, because the pumpkins will be gone if you don’t!” she says as she reaches him and Zahir, who is standing calmly by Harry’s side, one hand grasping the end of his jacket. He doesn’t like big crowds of people, and the pumpkin patch is a very popular haunt. But the pumpkins themselves are overflowing, littered all over the big field, there being enough of them for the whole town. The look in Maya’s eyes tells a different story and opinion.

“There are more than enough pumpkins for everyone, darling, but you have to stay with daddy, okay? No running away on your own, alright? You know that,” Harry says, and Maya immediately calms down, her little chest still rising and falling with excitement, but she grabs Harry’s hand as they start to walk slowly further into the patch.

“You see anything you like?” Harry asks as they pass the rows and piles of pumpkins, walking calmly to take it all in, the visit being just as much of an experience for the kids as it is an actual hunt for a good pumpkin to take home.

“Yes, I see everything, I like all of them, daddy,” Maya says, having chattered on to herself as they’ve been strolling. Harry smiles, scanning the field. “Zahir?” he looks down at his eldest son, who is pursing his lips, a slight furrow between his brows before his eyes get wider and he points further down the path.

“That one,” he says, pulling at Harry’s jacket and leading the way. “This one,” Zahir lets go of Harry to go over and lay a hand on the chosen pumpkin. It’s quite sizeable, but it’s a good pumpkin, smooth with a nice deep orange colour.

“Yeah? Maya? What do you think?” Harry says as they all get closer to inspect it.

“I like it,” Maya nods, holding onto Harry as he bends down to check that it isn’t smushed at the other side. “Alright, you gonna pick one out as well then? Maybe this one?” Harry says, crouched down on his heels and pointing to another slightly smaller pumpkin standing just behind the first one.

Maya hums and steps over a few tiny ones to get her hands on it, before nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes, I want that one, daddy,” she agrees, seeming to like Harry’s choice that will end up being her own once they get home to baba.

“And one more, we need one more for Jawhar, because he should also have one,” Maya says with a serious and eager look on her face as she looks around for a third and final pick.

“Okay, you wanna pick up a small one, Zahir, and I’ll get these two,” Harry says, grunting slightly as he gets the biggest one under one arm, and using his second large palm to get the other one off the ground.

“Alright, Maya, hold on to Zahir and we’ll go back to the car,” Harry says once Zahir has a small pumpkin in his arms, nodding his head in the right direction and letting the pups walk ahead in front of him, the three of them making their way back with their catch.

 

 

Harry has just about unbuckled Maya from her car seat and helped her down and out of the big vehicle before she is bounding off up the pathway to the house. Zayn must have heard the car pull up because the door opens just as she is starting to hammer her little hands on it, and she runs around Zayn’s legs and into the house, yelling loudly about the cookies that Zayn’s been making while they’ve been away.

Zayn shakes his head with a smile on his face before turning back towards the car as Harry opens the trunk to get the pumpkins out, Zahir standing by dutifully to help as best he can.

“Need a hand, babe?” Zayn walks over to the parked car, watching Harry get the biggest pumpkin under one arm. “Move out the way, sweetheart,” Zayn says to Zahir, getting a hand on his son’s head to make him come closer so that Zayn can close the trunk after Harry’s hands are full. “Good?” Zayn asks a panting Harry, a small smile breaking out onto his face at the sight of his husband with two large pumpkins under each arm.

“Baba!” comes a yell from inside the house before Harry can respond, and he just rolls his eyes fondly, gesturing towards the door with a nod of his head. “You go ahead, I’m good,” he says, smiling down at Zahir as he reaches up to hold his little hand under one of the pumpkins in Harry’s arms, his own little one tucked firmly against his chest.

“Come on, daddy,” he says simply, and Harry laughs, letting him keep his hand there on the way to the door.

“Babaaa!” Maya yells again, sitting on the floor of the hallway as the three of them get inside, Harry heading straight for the kitchen to unload himself. “Baba, help!” she knocks her booted feet against the floor and Zayn resists an eye-roll before he bends down to pull the shoes off.

“Shh,” he hushes her gently, putting the shoes along with her jacket and mittens away, and taking the pumpkin from Zahir so he can take his own shoes off. “The cookies are on the table- no running!” he gets out before Maya is disappearing around the corner. He sighs, turning to Zahir who stands proudly with his pumpkin.

“That yours, love?” Zayn asks, putting a hand on Zahir’s soft hair as they head for the kitchen.

“No, this one is for Jawhar. The really big one is for me, and the middle one is for Maya.” he says, pointing to all of the pumpkins in the kitchen, Harry having put the bigger ones on the floor by the back door.

“Oh. Don’t I get one?” Zayn asks with a small pout, and Zahir looks up at him with a look of slight horror on his face, like he’s forgotten something massively important, like he’s afraid that he might have really hurt his father’s feelings. Zayn surpresses a laugh at Zahir’s wide eyes, before Zahir quickly gets his wits about him. “We can share,” he says, coming up with a good solution. “I can share mine.”

Zayn feels his eyes crinkle up and he bends down to kiss his son’s head, so proud of Zahir’s natural ability to care so deeply for other people’s feelings. “No, that’s okay, love, it’s all yours,” he says warmly, but Zahir reaches a hand up to grab his.

“No, but- but I, I want to do it together,” he says, looking up at Zayn with those big eyes, making it so incredibly hard to say no, like always.

“We can do that, if you want,” Zayn says with a smile, nodding, making a matching one break out onto Zahir’s face.

“Baba!” Maya yells from two meter’s distance, and Zayn looks up to see her sitting at the table. She’s just about managing not to throw herself over the cookies and the icing all layed out before her, but Maya has never been known for her big patience, making Zayn quickly give her the attention she needs. Harry is the one to shush her this time, where he stands behind her, resting Jawhar on one hip while Rhino trots off to his dog bed by the back door once he’s made sure that he can take a break from his babysitting duties.

“Baba, are we painting? Can we paint now?” Maya asks excitedly, asking the obvious questions. “Look, daddy, it’s a ghost! And a bat! And a dinosaur!” she points at all of the different shapes of cookies, Harry nodding along to each one as Zahir sits down at the table, and Zayn unscrews the icing tubes for the kids to start to decorate with.

“Beautiful,” Harry says in genuine admiration as he comes up behind Zahir to look at the way he’s designed his dinosaur cookie. He knows he’s biased, but it’s actually really good, considering the fact that Zahir is only six (and a half). He finds everything his kids do amazing and talented, even when Zahir was only two years old and did a picture of Harry in green finger paint. It looked more like a shrub with legs than anything else, but it was the most brilliant thing Harry had ever seen.

Zahir looks up at him with a big smile, and Harry is reminded of why it’s so important to give these kinds of comments in the first place.

“Look daddy! Look, it’s you!” Harry looks up at Maya with her arm stretched out, holding on to her newest creation. It’s a pumpkin shaped cookie, with big green eyes and red hair, and what Harry is guessing could possibly be a pair of glasses in a bright yellow shade.

“Am I a pumpkin?” Harry asks with a false confusion and interest to his voice. Maya just nods.

“Yes.” And turns back to give Harry a yellow beard as well.

“That’s lovely, too,” Harry laughs, turning to where Zayn is sitting with Jawhar in his lap, holding on to his hand and letting him squeezy out the icing on a cookie shaped like a ghost. “You’re gonna be famous artists, all of you,” Harry smiles, watching the scene where he stands behind Zahir, distractedly stroking a big hand over his head. “They must get it from me.” He shrugs, only kidding a little bit. Zayn snorts with his eyes still on the cookie, and Harry blows a raspberry in his direction.

 

 

“Daddy, what if- what if a ghost comes and steals them when we sleep?”

Maya stands in the doorway, watching Harry carry the carved pumpkins to stand in front of the house. Zayn and Zahir had come up with a scary face to give the biggest one, while Harry had helped Maya carve a Minnie Mouse like creation out of the other. The smallest pumkpin had a happier face, and Jawhar had stared at it with wide eyes as they had lit it and put it on the kitchen counter, his little mind not seeming to have completely decided if he trusted it or not.

“No one will come and steal them, not even a ghost,” Harry says as he bends down to light the candles inside the pumpkins. “And if they do, then daddy will deal with them and make sure it never happens again,” he adds in a slightly lower tone, more to himself, putting the lids back on both pumpkins.

“What if it’s a nice ghost?” Comes Maya’s little voice, still standing with both hands clutched to her chest and a worried look on her eyes.

“Then we’ll invite it in for tea and biscuits,” Zahir says as he comes up behind her, walking out to stand beside Harry and look at the pumpkins.

“Daddy,” Maya calls, and Harry goes over to pick her up, carrying her out to look as well.

“What do you think?” he asks softly, the moment of truth upon them as he waits for the final verdict from his kids, to make sure that he’s done a good job of making them happy so far. He knows he manages quite well, pretty much always. But still, there’s always that hint of nerves, and one of the best feelings imaginable once his fears are put to rest.

“Good,” Maya says simply, looking down at the lights, transfixed by the way the pumpkins glow of orange and yellow, and the shapes it casts on the ground before them. Harry smiles, and kisses her cheek before ushering Zahir inside, kindly berating him for getting his little feet cold.

 

 

On the flip side; knowing when you definitely get it wrong can evoke some of the worst feelings inside of you as a parent. Seeing your child get upset and cry is absolutely gut-wrenching. Especially when you are the one who’s caused it.

“Jawhar,” Zayn cooes warmly, a laugh lodged in his throat, as Jawhar cries, his face scrunched up and tears quickly flooding down his cheeks. “It’s just daddy, darling, it’s okay,” he says in a soothing voice, a hand rubbing his back where Jawhar is standing pressed to the kitchen counter, out of sight from where Harry is standing on the other side with the scary mask in his hand.

“Bug?” Harry calls in a worried and kind voice, not quite finding it equally as hilarious as Zayn right at this moment, but still being able to see the fun in the situation. His heart is still breaking at the sound of his son crying and at the way he is so obviously afraid of him. “Bug, it’s only me,” he says, slowly coming round the corner to look at his scared little pup, Zayn still crouched down to calm him down. “It’s only me,” he smiles, and Jawhar stops hiccuping, looking at his father, looking just as big, gangly and hairy as usual. He’s so confused, yet Harry can’t resist lifting the werewolf-looking mask up to his face once again, Jawhar instantly starting to cry once he’s put it in front of his face.

“Jawhar,” Zayn laughs, still in that cooing voice, and Harry resists a snort of his own, feeling how evil he is and putting the mask on the counter. “Okay, that’s enough,” he says and goes over to pick Jawhar up whether he likes it or not.

Jawhar immediately brings a hand up to clutch at Harry’s shirt like he normally does, sniffling and staring up at Harry in confusion, before looking down at the mask on the counter.

“See, it’s just a mask, it’s not real,” Harry says, picking up the mask so Jawhar can feel the rubber under his hand. His pup tentatively puts a hand on it, before he gives an unhappy little whine and buries his head in his daddy’s neck instead. Harry laughs gently and puts the mask back down, a hand coming up to stroke Jawhar’s back, as Zayn rises up on his feet again.

“Maybe next year,” Harry mutters, kissing his son’s head lovingly and rocking him gently in his arms. Zayn huffs out a laugh. “Maybe not,” he says, stroking Jawhar’s head. “Daddy will behave, darling, I’ll make sure of it,” he adds, while still not being able to resist leaning in to give Harry a little smooch.

“With that kind of behaviour, I’ll never learn,” Harry grins, moving down to capture Zayn’s lips in another kiss, just because. Zayn just shakes his head with a smile, looking back down at Jawhar who seems to have fallen into a slumber, the warmth of his daddy’s chest and the low rumble of his voice working a treat as usual.

“Baba, can I watch a scary movie tonight?” Zahir comes into the kitchen, stopping just in front of Zayn, giving him those puppy dog eyes again. Their eldest son may be a little angel of a boy, but he still knows exactly the right way to play his parents when he wants something he probably shouldn’t be asking for in the first place.

Zayn smiles at him, bending down to give him a kiss.

“No.” he says, still smiling, as he stands back up.

Zahir frowns in confusion.

“But, it’s Halloween,” he says, in that pleading little voice that Harry especially has such trouble saying no to. Zahir fixes his eyes on Harry instead. Harry picks up the mask from the counter and puts it in front of his face. “No.”

Zahir whines, taking a second to suss out his best option, before latching onto Zayn’s legs, hugging him and looking up again, keeping the whining noise coming steadily out of his closed mouth. Zayn chuckles, but shakes his head.

“Tell you what,” he starts, and Zahir lifts his brows in excitement. “What if I make us some candy apples, and we can watch Nightmare Before Christmas together, and you won’t have to have any actual nightmares tonight. That sound good?”

Zahir purses his lips in thought, doing a little frown and most likely thinking about if it would be worth it to keep trying or not.

“Okay,” he says, a small smile creeping onto his face nonetheless, a nice sweet and a movie he loves sounding pretty good all things considered, just like Zayn knew it would.

“Alright, you go and get Maya, and I’ll start on the apples,” Zayn says gently, steering Zahir out of the room.

“Okay. Maybe next year?” Zahir tries, turning around and giving them another hopeful look by the doorway. Zayn smiles. “Go,” he fixes Zahir with a firm look, still with a kindness in his eyes. Zahir sighs, and leaves to find his sister.

“Maybe never,” Harry mutters, leaning on the counter, still rocking Jawhar gently side to side. Zayn rolls his eyes, smiling, as he gets out the sugar and syrup.

“Says the man who just scared his own child half to death,” Zayn laughs quietly, and Harry makes a sound of disagreement in his throat, squeezing Jawhar in his arms just a little bit tighter, placing a lingering kiss on his head and watching his sleeping face with a warm smile.

“Unless I can be in the film, ready to take my mask off whenever he gets scared, then no, he’s not watching any scary movies. Until he’s twenty. At least.” Harry mutters defiantly, Zayn coming up to get a pot just by his legs.

“Or until he gets a mate who can take care of him and keep him safe,” Zayn says pointedly, starting to mix the ingredients together, making Harry smile fondly, before the thought of his son having a mate registers in his mind and he frowns quickly. “No. Especially not then.” he says, with the knowledge of how a lot of those nights ended up for him and Zayn back in the day, when it started out with Zayn lovingly forcing Harry to watch something falsely described as a ‘thriller’, and ended with the movie playing in the background, Zayn taking the concept of ‘making it better’ to very interesting levels.

Zayn smiles knowingly, giving Harry a sidelong glance. “Psycho’s on later tonight, I believe. You don’t wanna watch it together?” he asks, his tone deceivingly innocent.

“Already seen that one,” Harry quickly answers, a cheeky grin starting to creep onto his face. Zayn rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what he’s thinking of. “Like ten percent of it.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not my fault. You were blocking the view.”

Images of Zayn grinding slowly on his lap, his soft moans in his ear as the black and white film played on in the background fill Harry’s mind and he gently clears his throat, his hand stroking steadily over his son sleeping in his arms.

“I mean,” he starts. Zayn looks at him expectantly, that small smile in the corners of his lips. Harry shrugs again. “We could watch it. If you like.”

Zayn smiles brightly.

“Good, because The Silence of the Lambs comes on after, so it’ll be a good warm-up for that.”

Harry glares. Zayn bites down on a laugh.

 

 

Both Maya and Jawhar are sleeping soundly in their rooms before the movie is over, Maya having fallen fast asleep about half-way through after having shared her apple with Harry, muttering to baba about the singing skeletons before curling up on one end of the sofa, Harry gently picking her up and carrying her to bed.

Zahir’s apple is almost completely gone and he sits holding the stick in a loose grip in his hand, his head leaning against Zayn’s side where he’s cuddled up under his baba’s arm. He can barely keep his eyes open but had insisted on staying until the movie was over before anyone was allowed to carry him away. Zayn has been stroking over his hair gently for the past ten minutes, the feeling of baba’s warm hand on his head serving as even more help of forcing Zahir’s eyelids completely shut.

“Hey, love,” Zayn gently whispers, his hand having come to a stop on Zahir’s head. “The movie’s over, Zed,” Zahir whines, pressing his face into Zayn’s chest, making him smile at his son’s antics.

“Let’s go to bed, love. Want me to carry you?” Zayn asks as Zahir pulls himself up, rubbing at his eyes. He makes another sound in his throat, shaking his head tiredly, and Zayn gets up from the sofa, letting Zahir lead the way out. He’s just about to follow him out of the living room when he throws a look back at the other sofa. Harry is knocked out, one arm thrown up over his head, his legs bent slightly to fit, and his face smushed into his raised bicep. Zayn huffs out a chuckle, a sudden warmth traveling through his stomach up to his chest and he shakes his head fondly before heading for Zahir’s room.

His eldest pup is already in bed, having put on his pyjamas before the movie, and lies with his favourite teddy bear pressed firmly to his chest, watching Zayn enter the room, smiling when he locks eyes with his baba.

“You brush your teeth?” Zayn asks as he’s sat down on the side of Zahir’s bed, making the boy nod. “Good.” Zayn moves a hand up to stroke over Zahir’s dark hair again, trying to get him back to his sleepy state.

“Oh,” Zahir bursts out gently, looking like he’s just remembering something. Zayn raises his eyebrows in wait. “Did you do my cape yet?” Zahir asks softly, a look of slight worry in his eyes, referring to bits of the outfit he’s gonna be wearing tomorrow when they all go trick or treating around the neighbourhood. This year’s outfit is one he designed himself. He’s gonna be a superhero, Zed-Man, with a green cape and a green mask, and black gloves, because black is the strongest colour and will help him get his superstrength. And won’t get so easily dirty, but that’s more for baba than Zahir.

Zayn nods with a smile.

“Yep, it’s all done, with a big black ‘Z’ on the back, just like you wanted,” he says, Zahir’s face breaking out into a content grin.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, sleep creeping into his voice again, as his blinking gets slower. “You’re the bestest,” he adds around a big yawn, sighing heavily and smacking his lips. Zayn smiles down at him, fingers still stroking over his hair.

“Only the best for my boy,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Zahir is smiling when he pulls back, but now his eyes are fully closed.

“Good night, baba,” he whispers and Zayn holds back a chuckle.

“Good night, love.”

He turns out the lights, standing for a moment in the doorway and watching Zahir, the little shape of him visible under the faint glowing light of the stars above his head. Zayn smiles, that same warm feeling settling in his stomach, before he pushes the door almost completely closed, and leaves for the living room.

He clears the table of the slight mess, throwing the apple sticks in the bin and crouching down to give Rhino a snuggle before he leaves the kitchen, turning off the lights on his way.

Harry is snoring lightly, but Zayn heads straight for the sofa anyway, climbing over him and laying down in the space between the back of the sofa and Harry’s side. Harry immediately moves his arm down to wrap around Zayn, pulling him close to him in his sleepy state, still not opening his eyes. Zayn smiles, and leans up to kiss the side of Harry’s face, his arm thrown over his stomach, thumb stroking his side.

“Baby. The kids are asleep,” he whispers softly in Harry’s ear, making him let out a grunt.

“I was asleep,” he mutters, no heat in his voice whatsoever. Zayn just moves his kisses down to his neck.

“So you don’t wanna go and not watch Psycho?”

Harry coughs slightly.

“I’m coming,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, and Zayn smiles happily, watching his profile, the curve of his nose, the strong angle of his jaw. “And you will be too, once I’m done with ya,” Harry adds sleepily, still cheeky as ever, fully conscious or not. Zayn can’t hide his snort and Harry’s smile is cut off by a large yawn, a noise not unlike one of a lion’s as he pushes out the air from his lungs, the accidental impression being topped off by the way his curls are laying in a tousled mess on the sofa cushion.

“Come on then,” Zayn grunts, using a hand placed on Harry’s chest to push himself up, clambering over him to get his feet on the ground. “Up you go,” he says, turning back to where Harry is stretching languidly, seeming to be in no rush to get into a standing position.

“If you get up now I’ll wear my special Halloween get-up for you while we watch,” Zayn says, using his finest tricks.

Harry’s eyes fly open as he immediately moves to rise from the sofa. “I’m all the way up,” he sighs heavily as he stands, and Zayn smiles wickedly, grabbing his hand and pulling him along up the stairs. He forces down a laugh as they reach the landing and Harry wraps his arms around his middle, pulling him back against him and burying his face in his neck, the two of them moving forward, still tangled together in a mess of limbs. Harry makes a rumbling sound in the depth of his throat as he rubs his face against Zayn’s skin, and Zayn shushes him with a giggle in his voice.

He pushes Harry away from him gently once they get into the bedroom and Harry goes willingly, only to give Zayn the chance to move over to the drawers, pulling something out after rummaging around in a bottom one for a few seconds. He quickly closes the drawer and and puts his findings behind his back, looking at Harry pointedly with a smirk on his face.

“You get the TV started. I’ll be right back,” he winks at him cheekily and Harry bites his lip excitedly, watching Zayn leave the room.

Harry sighs happily, taking his clothes off, leaving himself in just his underwear before grabbing the remote control from beside the TV standing just in front of their bed.

Tomorrow is gonna be a long day, filled with costumes and face paint and tiaras and capes and more sweets than any of the pups are allowed to eat in a whole month. Any parent would need a good night’s sleep to get through it all, Harry and Zayn included, but even though Harry knows they should probably be taking the precious time to sleep for as many hours as they possibly can, he’s not too worried about it. Especially not when the time spent awake is filled with him and his mate cuddled under a warm duvet, sharing kisses and touches, and Harry being able to put his hands all over Zayn’s body, a privilege that no matter after how many years it’s been, he’ll never ever take for granted.

He maybe should be bracing himself for the stress, what most parents would deem one of the most exhausting days of the year. But just like with everything else, it doesn’t really matter. Nothing has ever felt like a chore, not when he’s doing it all for the smiles on his children’s faces. For the kisses and cuddles and the way Zayn looks at him when it’s all over. Every single moment, it’s worth all of the effort. And while Harry may not have been a massive fan of the holiday when he was little, always feeling like he was missing the point, just like with everything else after Zayn came along, it all just makes sense.

Had someone told him back then that one day, he’d willingly stay up in the black of the cold October night and watch a scary movie in a dark room, he’d gladly laugh in their face. But as he lies in bed now, snuggled under the covers and watching the credits at the beginning of Psycho start to flash on the screen, he smiles.

A movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention to the doorway, seeing Zayn slink inside and closing the door gently behind himself. He’s wearing an oversized t-shirt that he sometimes sleeps in during the colder nights of autumn and winter, but as he raises a knee to get on the bed, Harry notices a hint of black lace hiding underneath. He smiles even wider, pulling Zayn into him and making sure the duvet is snug around them, bundling them up completely and sneaking an arm around Zayn’s waist.

“You’ll know what to do if I get scared?” Harry says quietly, and Zayn huffs out a small chuckle, laying his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

Harry looks down at him fondly, seeing Zayn’s smile in the light of the TV. Finding his hand under the covers, Harry lifts Zayn’s fingers to his lips, softly kissing his knuckles, and Zayn rubs his cheek gently against Harry’s chest, as Harry presses their intertwined hands to his bare skin.

Laying in a dark room, the night pitch black outside, with a scary movie on the TV, ironically, he’s never felt safer.


	10. a quickie to keep them sane

Laundry is Zayn’s least favorite chore, bar none.

Laundry day, however, is the best day of the week.

Zahir’s in his room, absorbed in a new book as usual, and Maya and Jawhar are napping in the front room of their new home. Throughout the house, the windows are open, and the warm summer breeze flowing from room to room carries on it the scent of flowers from the rose garden their neighbors meticulously maintain. It’s Harry’s turn to cook dinner, and the chicken roasting in the oven won’t be finished for another twenty minutes, at least. There’s a basket full of folded clothes at Zayn’s feet, another load finishing in the dryer, and his mate pressed against his back, their trousers pooled around their ankles as Harry gets a hand around his own cock and guides it to Zayn’s hole.

“I swear to God, Harry Styles, if you don’t fuck me right now-“ Zayn says, voice loud enough to be heard over the sound of the dryer but not so loud that he has to worry about any of the children hearing.

Harry chuckles behind him, the head of his cock catching at Zayn’s rim in a tease before he presses a kiss to the sensitive spot behind Zayn’s ear as he finally, finally, presses inside. One single, smooth thrust and he’s balls-deep, a sigh spilling from his lips.

“It’s Malik,” he grunts a second later, kissing his way down Zayn’s neck. “A fact that you are intimately-“ he pulls back before thrusting forward- “aware of.”

Zayn doesn’t dignify that with a response, teeth buried in his bottom lip to keep his whines at bay when Harry quickly falls into a familiar rhythm. He rocks his hips, fucking himself back at the same time Harry pushes forward, Harry’s hip bones slapping against Zayn’s arse. His mouth opens, a low moan slipping out before he can swallow it down. “Haz, I can’t-“ he starts, but Harry already knows. Always knows how hard it is for Zayn to keep quiet. Harry uses one hand to turn Zayn’s head, pressing their mouths together as his other hand circles around Zayn’s hip. His fingers drag along smooth skin before he presses his palm to the small swell just under Zayn’s navel.

“Mine,” Harry says, fucking forward harder. His hand stays on Zayn’s barely-there bump, using his leverage to keep Zayn’s arse pressing against his hips. Zayn grinds back, panting against Harry’s lips until the angle proves too much and he breaks away with another whine. He sets his elbows against the top of the empty washing machine, the angle changing as he rises to his tip toes. “Mine,” Harry repeats.

“Yours,” Zayn agrees, mouthing at his clenched fist. He sets his teeth against his index finger. “Gotta be fast,” he mumbles, knowing Harry’s understood him as he picks up the pace, fucking forward faster.

His voice is low when he speaks next, the alpha timbre causing Zayn’s hole to slick up even more. “You’re still so hungry for it, even with my pup in you. So wet for me, your body trying so hard to keep me inside of you.”

Zayn closes his eyes. He focuses on the fat head of Harry’s cock fucking him open, the drag of it along his insides and the way his slick is slowly dripping out of him. He whines and tries to rock back, but his foot slips out from under him and he groans in frustration.

“Baby, I got you. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

“You do, you are,” Zayn insists.

Though he misses Harry’s knot when he’s knocked up, he’s thankful for the ability to have a quickie with his mate in the twenty spare minutes they have before something or someone will inevitably need their attention. Even without the knot, Zayn can feel Harry swelling inside of him; he knows his mate is close. The rush of it all turns Harry on.

Zayn knows all of Harry’s quirks at this point, a decade and three pups later with a fourth on the way. He knows the fastest way to get Harry off is by using his pregnancy against him. Zayn digs his elbows into the washing machine to help him back up, his back pressed against Harry’s chest once again. They’re both sweaty through their tees, the small utility room off of the garage windowless and cramped. The air is heavy on their bare skin, Zayn’s shirt having rucked up over the last few minutes. Harry’s hands steady him as he stumbles, a bit dizzy.

“Y’okay?” Harry asks, voice deep in his ear.

Zayn nods, letting his legs spread. Harry keeps one hand on Zayn’s bump while the other drags across Zayn’s skin, teasing a trail up his shirt to tweak both of his nipples in turn. Zayn whines, too loud, and lifts his arm over his head to fist in Harry’s hair.

“Gotta be quiet, duck.”

“Not gonna happen if it keeps feeling like this,” Zayn promises. “Feel like you’re gonna knock me up again.”

Harry laughs breathlessly, no more than a huff of air against Zayn’s ear. He kisses and licks a line down to Zayn’s shoulder, mouthing at their bond mark as his fingers press more urgently against their pup.

“Gonna put another one in me?” Zayn asks around a laugh of his own, loving that he can feel Harry’s thrusts stutter even though what he’s saying is ridiculous. “Gonna get so deep inside of me, fill me up until I’m carrying another baby?”

“Zayn, stop,” Harry groans, rhythm completely lost.

Zayn tightens his fist in Harry’s hair, pulling slightly as he clenches down, holding his pose until Harry whines through his teeth and fucks in deep two, three more times. Zayn tells himself that he can feel Harry spilling inside, mixing with his own natural slick, and he whimpers when Harry pulls out too quickly.

“Let go of my hair, baby,” Harry encourages, voice impossibly low and full of need. “I wanna taste you, make you come on my tongue.”

If Zayn knows Harry’s triggers, then Harry knows Zayn’s tenfold. Zayn holds his breath as Harry slowly sinks to his knees, careful in his thirties the way he had never been at twenty-two. He’s only gotten better with his mouth, though, as he spreads Zayn apart and leans in quickly. His tongue is always wickedly good, and getting eaten out is almost more of a treat for Harry than it is for Zayn.

Almost.

Zayn lets Harry’s hand on his lower back lead him into a bend, resting against the washing machine once again and practically presenting for his mate. He goes boneless at the first, confident lick and lets his arms stretch above his head, reaching for something to which he can hold. He eyes the timer on the tumble dryer, startled to find they’ve used up almost all the guaranteed window they had carved out for themselves.

“Babe,” he starts, gasping when Harry lets his teeth catch at his rim. “Babe, we only have a couple minutes before the oven’ll go off.”

Harry hums in understanding before getting both hands on Zayn’s hips and jerking him back forcefully, hard enough to make Zayn’s breath catch. He can feel where Harry’s face is sloppy with his mess, a quick kiss pressed to Zayn’s inner thigh before he’s diving back in.

He encourages Zayn to rock back onto his face before getting a hand around his cock and tugging in a perfect rhythm with the way his tongue is relentlessly trying to lick up all of Zayn’s slick. It feels miles long, getting at the deepest parts of him, and Harry’s fingers are stroking him off just right. It’s only a few, frantic seconds later that Zayn’s spilling into Harry’s fist.

His stomach is tight and his lip bitten raw by the time his body stops shaking through it. Harry kisses his lower back once, twice before standing. Zayn winces at the sound Harry’s knees make as he straightens. “When did we get old?” he asks with a laugh.

“A while ago,” Harry answers. He helps Zayn turn around, kissing his mouth gently as Zayn’s hands work to straighten out their shirts and rebutton Harry’s trousers. His own pants and joggers are a mess, and he grabs a clean pair of each from the laundry basket at his feet just as the oven timer goes off. The quick beeps are loud in the otherwise quiet house, and Harry rolls his eyes before heading out the door to finish dinner.

Zayn pauses at the door himself a second later, running his hands over his body quickly to check all his clothes are in place. He runs his fingers through his hair and slides the pocket door open just as the sound of little feet pounding the wood floors reaches his ears. He pops his head in the kitchen to see six year old Maya and two and a half year old Jawhar standing next to Harry, looking up at him with wide eyes as he takes the chicken from the oven.

“Perfect timing,” Zayn says to him with a smirk.


	11. a systematic breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter, and the two that follow, focus on the loss of their pup from the last drabble. this is not meant to imply that everyone has the same experience when losing a child; this is definitely slightly dramatized version of a specific situation.

It’s a slow process, but one day Zayn looks around and realizes he and Harry haven’t had an actual conversation in almost a month.

The realization hits him like a train.

Sure, there have been some words exchanged. A couple ‘good mornings’ and a brief check-in here and there about whose job it was to chauffer the kids to school. Zayn could never shut Harry out completely, but he also can’t bring himself to look his mate directly in the eye.

He can’t forgive himself for losing their pup.

Even though Harry promises he doesn’t blame Zayn, promises that things like this ‘just happen’ and there’s nothing that could have been done differently, Zayn can’t stop going over the entire, brief pregnancy in his head. He did something wrong along the way that caused this, he knows it. He just needs to find the moment, the second where it went wrong. And until he finds that second, until he can ensure that mistake is never made again, Zayn can’t be around his mate without a crippling wave of guilt washing over him.

So, when Harry’s packing to leave for a weekend seminar in Paris, Zayn makes sure the kids are occupied in the front room and then he edges into the bedroom. He can see when Harry realizes he’s not alone, the way tension makes his posture change, and it hurts his heart.

Funny, Zayn had always thought that expression was stupid until he felt it himself.

With a deep breath, he steels himself and approaches his mate, sliding up next to him. He takes a look at the haphazardly packed suitcase and snorts, and some of the stiffness drains from Harry’s frame.

“I was always shit at this,” Harry says, voice low.

Zayn can see the way Harry’s watching him, his expression clearly hopeful. He can’t deal with the look in his eyes, though, so he just reaches into the luggage and starts refolding and reorganizing, working on autopilot as he works up the nerve to say what needs to be said.

As always, though, Harry doesn’t need words to know what Zayn is thinking. “Can we fix this?”

Zayn shrugs, biting his bottom lip. The sting of tears pricks at the corners of his eyes, and he shrugs again. He feels like, if he were to open his mouth, he’d break down. And he has three pups a few rooms over that need him to keep it together.

“Zayn, I-“

“Don’t,” his voice breaks. He takes a breath, and then another. “I can’t do this if you-“ he looks up, eyes caught on Harry’s. “Haz, I can’t be here, with you.”

“I’m going to be gone until Tuesday,” Harry starts, but Zayn’s already shaking his head.

“I need to be out of this atmosphere. Away from the memories.”

Harry breaks eye contact then, glancing around the room. He has a rueful smile on his face. “It’s ironic. I didn’t want to leave our flat because of the memories we made in that home and I brought us to a house where the memories we’ve made are suffocating us.”

There’s nothing Zayn can say to that. He places his hand on Harry’s, coaxing him to let go of the shirt clutched in his grip.

As if the touch fans a spark into a flame, Harry interlocks their fingers and tugs. Zayn goes willingly, curling into Harry’s hold and tilting his face back for the kiss. It takes him apart, the way their lips fit like pieces of a puzzle. He breathes deep through his nose as he winds his free hand around Harry’s neck, his fingernails scratching lightly at the top of Harry’s spine. The kiss feels seamless, endless, reckless.

Zayn can feel Harry’s hands on his waist, tethering him. He forgets only for a moment that he’s devastated, that his marriage is crumbling around him, that he doesn’t know up from down. It’s only when a sob threatens to tear its way out of his throat that he jolts back to awareness. He steps away, one hand flat on Harry’s chest.

With a disgruntled sound, Harry halfheartedly tries to press forward but stops when Zayn keeps his arm up. “Zayn, I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not,” Zayn says, though he can’t really make the promise. “I just need to go stay with my parents for a bit. I think it,” and he pauses here, because what he’s about to say is going to be the hardest. “It might be best if the kids come with me.”

As expected, the light in Harry’s eyes fades immediately. His shoulders slump, his jaw goes slack and he sits down heavily on the bed, not seeming to care that he’s half on the top of suitcase. “Don’t take my family away from me.”

“I would never.”

“So what, I see them every other weekend and the fucking Christian holidays? They’re my pups, my blood.”

“They need stability. They need to be with a parent that doesn’t go away for work twice a month.”

“You’ve never complained about my work before, Zayn. I’m never gone long.”

Zayn steps back, running a finger along his brow to stall a headache he can feel forming. “I can’t do this.”

“Don’t shut me out.”

“Harry, I cannot do this,” Zayn stresses. “I literally feel like I’m going to fall apart any second.” Thankfully, Harry closes his mouth and just looks up at him. “I would never keep you from the kids. You know that. When you’re not working, you can have them whenever you’d like. But I think that, for now, my parent’s house is the best place for them.”

Zayn watches Harry rest his head on his hands, his shoulders rippling his t-shirt as he takes several deep breaths. He doesn’t know how long he stands there awkwardly, slowing curling into himself until Harry finally seems to pull himself together and look up.

His eyes are damp and bloodshot, like he’s aged a decade in the span of sixty seconds. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“We’ll do this your way for now. I’ll try to give you as much time as you need. I’ll call your mum and make arrangements to see them.”

“You can always call me, Harry.”

“Can I?”

Zayn steps forward, lifting his hand. He can’t stop himself. His fingers trace the smile lines next to Harry’s eyes. His palm cups Harry’s cheek. He thumbs at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I will always answer. I might need time, and I might need space, but I will never keep you from your children. We’ve already lost-“

“That wasn’t your fault,” Harry says, the words automatic.

Zayn shrugs again, dropping his hand and stepping back. “We’ll be in Bradford when you come back.”

Harry nods.

Zayn takes another step backwards and then a third before he forces himself to look away and leave the room. He steps into the toilet, wringing his hands and taking deep breaths to keep his tears at bay. His emotions are getting the better of him.

There’s a knock at the door, and Zayn can sense Harry’s hormones even over the distance between them. His own are strong, calling out for his mate. Zayn knows what opening the door means.

He does it anyway.

Instantly, Harry’s pressing inside and closing them in, hands desperately lifting Zayn’s shirt over his head and getting at all of the bare skin that’s now exposed. Zayn doesn’t let their mouths meet until Harry is in a similar state of undress, their shirts pooling at their feet before they’re kissing at fumbling with belts and trousers. With an ease born from over a decade of being together, Harry’s hands are soon grasping the backs of Zayn’s thighs and lifting him. Zayn’s back is against the wall in the cramped space, his thin legs around Harry’s hips.

He’s slick already, and it takes nothing for Harry to slip inside and set a grueling pace. It’s rough and unforgiving, Zayn’s hands fisted in Harry’s short locks as he bites at his mouth and does his best to fuck down.

It’s over almost as quickly as it starts, Zayn coming without a hand on him as Harry spills inside without knotting. Harry lets him down gently, tucking a strand of Zayn’s hair behind his ear as his kisses turn gentle.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Zayn whispers.

The mood changes immediately, Harry backing away as much as the room will allow. He drags his gaze from Zayn’s toes, up his legs and torso before finally meeting Zayn’s eyes. “It could,” he says after a long moment. “We could try again.”

“All of our problems are still here, they’re just buried beneath great sex.”

Harry smiles then, though it’s small and sad. “We’ve always been good at that, though.”

Zayn answers with a quiet smile of his own, leaning down and gathering their clothes. He hands Harry’s off and lets him slip out of the toilet first, getting his own clothes on after a quick clean up. Harry is in the front hallway, kissing and hugging six year old Zahir as five year old Maya and not-quite two year old Jawhar wait their turns.

Zahir has always been a good sport about his daddy leaving, though Maya has only recently been able to process that Harry is always coming back. Jawhar takes his cues from his big sister, a smile on his face as he reaches his chubby arms to wrap around Harry in a hug when he picks him up.

“Me too, daddy,” Maya demands, a pout forming on her face.

Zayn smiles, rolling his eyes fondly as Harry gets an arm around her waist and picks her up, too. Harry’s eyes meet his over her curly hair. He presses a kiss to her temple. “Daddy has to go to work, but I’ll be back soon. Baba’s going to take you guys to daadi and daada’s house for a visit, does that sound okay?”

Zahir looks back at Zayn, six years old and smart enough to know that this isn’t what they normally do when Harry leaves. Zayn smiles at his son, walking to him and bending to press a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay, jaan. We’ll see daddy when he comes home.”

“He’ll come get us from daadi’s house?”

Zayn doesn’t want to make a promise he may not be able to keep, but he’s saved from answering by Harry. His husband picks Zahir up, tickling his side until he’s giggling and forgetting completely about the question he’d asked.

It’s not their finest parenting moment, Zayn knows. He can admit to himself, though, that he’s relieved that Harry and he can still work together for their kids. He hadn’t realized he was doubting it until the fear was quelled.

Maya and Jawhar tug at Harry’s trousers, pouting at having been put down. Zayn laughs and kneels down next to them, hands on their backs as Harry crouches down as well for one last hug and kiss each.

“Say ‘bye’ to daddy,” Zayn says, unnecessarily so as they already are.

Harry lifts his suitcase over the threshold, before Jawhar stops him.

“Daddy,” he calls out, his voice soft. Harry turns immediately, Jawhar’s words rare enough to make an impact. “Baba kiss.”

“I forgot to kiss baba, didn’t I?” Harry asks. “Thanks, bug.” Jawhar grins, watching as Harry sets his bag down outside and crosses the foyer to press a kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth. “Call me if you want or need me,” Harry whispers before he’s leaving for real, tugging the front door closed behind him.

Zayn’s head is too full to process everything, so he focuses on one thing at a time. He picks up his baby, kissing his cheeks. “You did such a good job, reminding daddy,” he says. “Best bug, huh?” He gets a smile in return, back to silence. Zayn doesn’t mind, knows his boy will talk if he needs to. He shifts to look at his oldest. “Zahir, can you help Maya pack enough clothes for a weekend at daadi and daada’s?”

Zahir nods, making as if to take Maya’s hand before he seems to remember the last time he had done that, when she had protested she was too big to hold his hand anymore. He just smiles at her instead, tilting his head so she follows him.

“I’m going to bring my princess costume and my astronaut costume and my ghost costume and my elephant costume,” she announces as she leaves the room.

“You can just bring one,” Zayn calls out, though he doesn’t have much hope she’ll listen. He’s just thankful his parents have clothes for them there anyway, in case Maya decides she doesn’t want to play dress up as much as she thinks. He turns to the squirmy boy in his arms. “What do you say, bug? Should we go pack something for you?” He gets a big nod in return.

They don’t finish packing until time for tea, and Zayn reheats some leftovers Harry had kept for them, leaving the kids to eat in the kitchen as he slips into the next room and calls his mum. He keeps himself composed until they’re off the phone, wiping at his eyes and sniffling to clear his running nose. He tilts his head back, dragging in a lungful of air and craving a smoke desperately.

A little voice startles him. “Are you okay, baba?”

Zahir is standing in the archway into the eating area, his green eyes wide.

“Can you keep a secret, jaan?” Zayn asks. Zahir nods. “I’m not okay right now. But I will be, when we get to daadi’s house.”

“Can we go now?”

Zayn smiles. “I think we should wait until the morning.”

“But you’re sad.”

“No,” Zayn says, because sad isn’t the right word. “I’m not sad, exactly.”

“You miss dad?”

“So much.”

Zahir grins then, coming closer and hugging around Zayn’s narrow waist. “Dad’ll be home soon, then you can be happy again. And we’ll go see daadi and daada until he’s home.”

Zayn nods, a hand on Zahir’s head. “That’s a good plan, jaan. Is your sister all packed?”

Zahir pulls back and rolls his eyes, a habit Zayn can only blame on himself. “She found room for her doll’s costumes, too.”

“Oh no,” Zayn says, smiling.

He lets Zahir wander away and into his room, probably looking to read before lights out. He heads back into the other room, overseeing the clean up as it’s Maya’s night to do the dishes. Luck must be on Zayn’s side, because they make it through without any plates or cups being dropped on the floor. He thinks Maya is finally growing out of her clumsy phase, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she turns out to have the same lack of coordination that plagues her daddy.

When the kitchen and eating area are both clean, he lets Jawhar pick a film and puts on the telly for them. He goes into their rooms, grabbing their suitcases and lining them up by the front door before he heads into his bedroom and tosses a few essentials in a duffel bag. He keeps it open at the foot of the bed, knowing he’ll need to toss in toiletries and last minute items in the morning.

His mobile buzzes from the nightstand. Harry’s name flashes on the lock screen, and Zayn thumbs it open.

 _Made it through security,_ it reads. _Will let you know when landed. Love and miss you and the pups already. We will get through this. –H_

Zayn refuses to tear up any more, tapping out _okay, xo_ before locking it and setting the phone back down. He doesn’t see a future in which he and Harry aren’t together, but he doesn’t know how to get them back on track.

Methodically, he replays every memory he can recall from the moment they learned they were expecting until the moment they learned they were losing the baby. Once again, for the possibly thousandth time, Zayn comes up with nothing; no misstep, no error.

He hopes being with his parents will help him relax and focus, knowing the kids will be distracted and he’ll have time to really put effort into tracing every breath. He knows he’ll have to tell them something about why they’re staying there, especially as Zayn doesn’t know when they’ll be leaving again. Doesn’t know if they will. But he hadn’t been far enough along in the pregnancy to announce it, and he doesn’t relish the thought of having to explain that he doesn’t know why he didn’t give them another grandbaby.

Zayn doesn’t let himself reflect on it any further, though, once he looks at the clock on the bedside table and realizes it’s already ten minutes past lights out. He stands and shakes the tension from his shoulders, heading down the hallway.

He checks first on Zahir, whose asleep with an open book on his chest, mouth open and snoring softly. Zayn creeps over, slipping the book from his hands and shutting off his lamp. Immediately, the nightlights glow, fun elephant and giraffe shapes that help Zahir- though he is too much of a big boy to admit to being afraid of the dark.

Zayn closes the door behind him once he leaves, heading into the sitting area to find Maya dozing off and Jawhar somehow full of energy. He turns off the telly and helps Jawhar down from the sofa, getting Maya into his arms and carrying down to her room.

“Is daddy home yet?” she asks sleepily, sneaking a thumb into her mouth as her head rests against Zayn’s chest.

“Not yet.”

She settles in bed easily, drifting off almost immediately. Zayn doesn’t need to look around to know that Jawhar isn’t with him, the youngest having a tendency to keep a hand on the nearest body at all times. The absence of little fingers on his calf is a giveaway. Zayn finds Jawhar climbing onto his bed, Rhino wagging his tail at him from his cushion in the corner.

“Are you encouraging this?” Zayn asks the dog, smiling when his tail thumps harder on the ground.

Jawhar doesn’t look back to acknowledge his presence, just keeps trying to jump and tug his way to the top. Zayn helps him up, watching as he crawls to the pillows and snuggles under the duvet, his stuffed ladybug toy clutched in his arms.

“You sleeping with baba tonight, bug?” Zayn asks, slipping off his jeans and pulling on a pair of pajamas. Jawhar hums in response, laying half of his body on Harry’s pillow. “Okay, but you’re going to have to scoot in if your bhai and apiya want to sleep here, too.” Another hum.

Zayn dims the hall light a little, leaving it just bright enough to see by as he keeps his door open a crack to make up for the lack of night lights in his and Harry’s room. He makes his way back to the bed, scooting in on his side and letting Jawhar cuddle under his arm the way he usually does when Harry goes away on work. Their youngest is the most sensitive to change, and Zayn feels guilty as he thinks about how the upcoming change will affect them all, but Jawhar the most. Then he reminds himself that he isn’t doing anything but what he thinks is best for their kids, and he coaxes the guilt and anxiety down into a more manageable ball of stress.

“Get some sleep, bug, and we’ll go on a little trip in the morning, yeah?”

He feels Jawhar nod against his arm before curling around his toy more and drifting off quickly. It takes Zayn a bit longer to follow, and by then Maya has already tiptoed into the room and spread out in the space next to Jawhar, above the covers, and fallen back asleep.


	12. the inspiration needed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> directly follows the last chapter. continues the miscarriage storyline.

Harry should have known better than to tell Liam of his woes. Four hours of beer and talking later, and all Liam has to say is:

“If you didn’t want him to go, then why did you let him leave?”

Harry groans, stretching his arms across the sticky bartop table and resting his head on his elbows. “You asked me that hours ago.”

“And I still haven’t heard an answer.”

“I don’t have one!” Harry snaps.

“Don’t snap at me,” Liam warns, though he’s smiling around his beer. “I’ll call Louis and have him come listen to you mope. He’s particularly pissed at you.”

Harry groans some more, wanting to scream but wanting to stay and continue drinking even more. “Hey,” he begins, an idea forming in his head. “How often do you guys fight?”

“Never.”

“Come off it.”

“No, really. Louis and I will bicker a bit, and he can be a whiny bitch just as often as I can. But we don’t fight; haven’t really since the very beginning before we were friends.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. When we need a break, we take one. But we have seven kids, we don’t have time for fighting.”

Harry ignores the irrational jealousy he feels. Louis’ pregnancies have been hard, especially the multiples. Harry and Zayn had watched their friends grow more stressed and anxious with each week during the last, when Louis had been carrying triplets. He frowns. “Have you guys ever lost a pup?”

Liam shifts in his seat, eyes growing soft. “We’re not sure. There was once, right after Bella was born, where we thought Louis was showing all the signs of pregnancy. The home test was positive but the doctor’s test the next week was negative. We think we may have, then.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You can ask us anything, Haz. You know that. Louis would agree with me, even right now.”

“He and Zayn been talking, then?” Harry worries, sometimes, that Zayn closes himself off too much. Before they’d had their pups, Zayn would often disappear on Harry for long weekends at a time. It had stopped worrying Harry after the first few occasions and, though he’s never learned to enjoy the radio silence, the occasions for such have grown rare. He’s learned to deal with them.

He doesn’t want to learn to deal without Zayn entirely.

“Louis asked Zayn around for tea the other night, actually, but Zayn didn’t want to confuse the kids. Why they’re seeing their uncles without their daddy.”

“I miss them so much,” Harry admits. “I just saw them yesterday but I miss them already. Is that stupid?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Liam says, expression one of offense. “You’re supposed to miss your pups.”

“I just never thought it’d come to this. Zayn’s been gone for a month, and every time I ask when he’s coming home, he doesn’t have an answer. I can’t keep seeing my kids for a weekend at a time. I need to be with them.”

“Then you need to convince Zayn to come home.”

Harry rubs absently at the small mark on the scent gland on his wrist, Zayn’s name in Urdu in his handwriting. Harry had surprised Zayn with it on their wedding day. It’s been a focal point of his anxious energy lately. “Oh, alright, that simple huh?” he asks, standing to fetch their next round. He’s proud of himself that he doesn’t stumble even a little. “I should just be like, ‘hey, Zayn, yeah. Um. Come home, yeah?’ and all of our problems will be solved.”

“Oh, I’ve an idea,” Liam says, suddenly sitting up a bit straighter. He ignores Harry’s sarcastic tone. “Why don’t you take Zayn back to that place you went on your honeymoon?”

“Aberdeenshire?”

“No, Haz, your other honeymoon.”

Harry glares at him. “You’ve learnt too much sass from your mate.”

“Yes, Aberdeenshire. Go to that little farm you found. Take the kids, spend some time up there.”

Harry wanders away without responding to get their drinks, coming back with a pint each for them. “That’s not a half-bad idea, actually,” he concedes. “I don’t know how I would convince Zayn to spend that kind of time with me, though.”

Harry doesn’t need to meet Liam’s eye to know his face is full of pity. He quickly changes the subject, babbling about how tall Zahir is already and how Harry thinks he’ll be taller than Zayn for sure. Liam lets him steer the conversation, and the night passes in relative ease.

~*~

Harry broaches the subject with Zayn a few days later, when he’s driven up to his in-laws’ house to get the kids for a quick visit. He’s out of town the next three days, and he didn’t want to go so long without seeing them. They spend the day at a nearby park, five and a half year old Maya babbling a thousand miles an hour about learning to cook with her daadi. The boys stay mostly quiet. Even Rhino, in-between fetching the ball for Zahir, is subdued.

It just gives Harry the courage to fix things.

He drops them off in plenty of time before tea. “I let them have ice cream,” he admits to Zayn with a small smile. “They should have burned it off since then, though.”

Zayn smiles back, ruffling six and a half year old Zahir’s hair as he passes into the house.

“Are you coming home?” Harry asks, his own smile fading as he watches Zayn’s mouth turn down at the corners. “I just don’t want us to give up on this. Us.”

“I just need time, I think,” Zayn says, but Harry has learned how to read him and he can tell when Zayn isn’t confident in his words.

“I’ve an idea, and just hear me out before you say no. Okay?” Zayn nods. “I’ve been researching online, and the cabin we rented for our honeymoon is available for the last two weeks before school starts again.” Zayn’s already shaking his head, but Harry presses on. “Hey, wait. I think the kids need this, need to see us together and as a team. We can take those two weeks to figure us out. We’ll tell the kids at the end if we can’t find a way back together.”

“Harry-“ Zayn starts to say, but Harry sees the shine of tears in his eyes and tries one last time.

“Let me give the kids one trip, all of us together, if this is really going to be the end.”

“You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

“Not today,” Harry says, forcing a cheerful tone. “Sleep on it and, if you still want to say no, give me a call tomorrow.”

Zayn’s bottom lip is nearly bitten raw, and Harry watches him pull it into his mouth and press his teeth against what must be a sore spot. He waits a beat, then two, and finally Zayn nods. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” he promises. Harry knows his cue to leave, giving a little half-salute before he turns and jogs down the front deck steps.

As he’s slipping into his car, he looks back at the house. Zayn’s still stood in the doorway, expression unreadable. Trisha is stood in the kitchen window, a mug in one hand with Jawhar on her hip and a small smile on her face. She encourages Jawhar to give Harry a small wave and he nods and responds with one of his own, trying to keep his emotions at bay until he’s away from his children being witness.

If he breaks down in anxious tears on the M62, having to pull off and sob for twenty minutes at an empty petrol station, then that is his secret to keep.

~*~

Zayn’s call is expected. His agreement is not.

“I want to leave, with the kids, whenever I choose,” is his only condition. Harry guarantees it immediately, and they’re bundled up in a car a couple of weeks later, Aberdeen-bound.

The silence is awkward for all of ten minutes before Harry begins making random small talk, discussing passing empty fields at length until Zayn is laughing and reminding him to be quiet so the pups can sleep in the back. Harry lets his voice trail away, Zayn fiddling with the controls until music is flowing softly through the car.

“I miss you,” Zayn says, his voice quiet.

Harry knows he isn’t really supposed to react, knows that Zayn doesn’t like being vulnerable and would rather pretend his words hadn’t been heard. But Harry has been challenging Zayn’s comfort levels for a decade, and he reaches over to squeeze his knee gently before settling his hand on the shift again. “I miss you, too.”

~*~

Zayn nods off before they’ve even merged onto M6, and Zahir’s the first to stir awake another hour later.

“We almost there?” he asks.

Harry glances at him in his mirror, smiling at his mate’s carbon copy. “Not yet. We’re gonna stop in about an hour and stretch our legs a bit.”

Zahir, ever the trooper, just nods and dozes back off for a few minutes until Jawhar stirs and starts to make cranky noises. Harry looks for a turnoff, but his oldest is already stirring back awake and getting a small juice box for his brother out of a cooler under his feet.

“Thanks, jaan,” Zayn says from the passenger seat. Harry hadn’t noticed him stirring, but he glances over at him now to see Zayn blinking slowly at him.

“We’ve got about an hour to go,” Harry says. “You can sleep some more if you’d like.”

Zayn nods but shifts to sit up a bit straighter. He starts a game of ‘I Spy’ with Zahir, Maya joining in when she wakes up some half hour later. When Harry next looks, Jawhar is sleeping again, his juice box still held to his mouth. He snorts and opens the car up a bit more, eager to get them out and stretching before the mood turns sour.

~*~

Somehow, they make it to their reservation in reasonable time. Jawhar and Maya are both grouchy when they finally park at the cottage they’ve rented for the two weeks, but Harry sends them off to play in full view of the front room’s bay windows while he, Zayn and Zahir unload the car. Zahir doesn’t go play with his siblings right away, having decided instead to unpack his things in the room he’ll be sharing with Jawhar while Zayn sets the kitchens to rights and Harry empties their suitcases in the largest bedroom.

They’d avoided discussing sleeping arrangements, and Harry keeps some of his things in his luggage just in case Zayn decides he’d rather not share a bed during this vacation. He’s also hopeful enough that he sets out his toiletries in the bathroom, intermixed with Zayn’s the way they are at home.

When he comes out of the room and heads back into the kitchen, Zayn turns to face him. His eyes flicker over Harry’s shoulder to the bedroom he’d just exited, and Harry thinks he can see a flush on his cheeks over the distance before he turns back around and tends to a pot of something he already has cooking on the stove.

Harry grins to himself, a bounce to his step as he goes outside to play with the kids until Zayn calls them back in for an early tea.


	13. ...to set things right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ends the miscarriage storyline

Zayn watches the kids and Harry play out the front window, his arms across his chest. The veggie biryani Zahir had requested for dinner is nearly finished. Normally, he’d be outside with his mate and pups, playing in and enjoying the sunshine. Now, he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t know how he and Harry got to this point: barely able to speak to one another without something curling unpleasantly in Zayn’s stomach. He can’t stop the sense of guilt he feels when he’s around Harry; guilt from focusing on the pup he lost. He’s found that being at his parent’s house is easier; no one there knows the reason Zayn and the kids have moved in, and he can pretend that he’s forgotten the reason himself.

He goes back into the kitchen before anyone can look in and spot him, knowing it will only lead to Jawhar or Maya coming inside to ask him in their own way to come out and play with them. Zayn’s gotten good at ducking his way out of invitations to hang out with the kids with Harry around, always having an excuse ready for why he’s busy. They usually earn him a few questioning glances from Zahir, but his eldest hasn’t asked him any direct questions yet.

Zayn hasn’t decided if he’ll lie when the time comes.

He pulls out a container of dahi his mum had sent with them, setting it on the counter and starting to chop the veg. Maya comes in after a moment, eyes and cheeks bright from the slight chill in the air as the sun hangs lower in the sky.

“Can I help, baba?”

He levels her a look. She’s never been one for concentration. He really doesn’t want to let her chop veg with him but he can’t resist her eager face either. “You can set the table, please.”

She smiles and nods, grabbing the plates first and heading into the small dining room off of the kitchen. Zahir comes in next with Jawhar at his side, similar offers to help from both of them.

“Sure. Jaan, can you help your apiya with the table? Bug’s going to help with dinner.” He lifts Jawhar onto the counter, handing him the dahi and a big spoon. “Hold carefully, okay?” Jawhar nods. Zayn grabs for his container of spice bottles- another gift from his mum- and carefully selects a few to add to the yogurt. “Stir this,” he says, keeping an eye on the youngest while he finishes the raw vegetables.

The front door closes again, Harry coming into the kitchen a moment later. “It smells great,” he says, and Zayn looks up at him. He smiles instinctually, holding it for a moment too long until he realizes he hasn’t said anything. He’s about to, mouth open and licking his lips, when Jawhar twists around to see his daddy and ends up dropping the container on dahi.

Zayn watches it fall out of the corner of his eye, reacting a beat too late to catch it. It falls on its side, of course, and a huge blob smacks onto the floor. Jawhar looks down at it with big, wide eyes.

“It’s okay, bug,” Harry rushes to reassure. Jawhar looks up at Zayn, who is staring at the mess.

There’s a dot on his toe.

It’s, somehow, fucking hilarious.

Zayn starts giggling at first, quiet sounds that make his stomach tight until he can’t keep the sound in and he’s doubled over in full laughter with tears streaking down his cheeks. He squats down, hands on his face.

“Are you having a fit?” Harry asks, a smile in his voice. Zayn looks up at him, his vision a bit blurry. Jawhar is on Harry’s hip, looking at Zayn with concern.

“I might be,” Zayn agrees, leaning back and sitting on his bum. Harry sits down as well, letting Jawhar walk to Zayn but keeping a hand on his shoulder to guide him around the mess. Zahir and Maya come in, faces showing shock.

“Baba?” Jawhar asks, putting his hands on Zayn’s face. “I sorry.”

“Oh, bug, it’s okay,” Zayn says, hiccupping around his continued laughter. He pulls his baby into a hug. “It’s fine. Daddy makes messes all the time.”

“Hey,” Harry says, drawing it out.

“Did I lie?”

Harry pouts, but Zayn can see the smile turning up the corners.

Zahir steps forward. “I can help clean it up.”

“I’ll get it. Thanks, bud,” Harry says. “Can you take your brother and sister to wash up for tea?”

Always a trooper, Zahir nods and grins. He holds a hand out to Jawhar, coaxing him around the dahi and leading him and Maya out, down the hallway, and into the toilet. Harry watches them leave before turning to look back at Zayn. Suddenly, Zayn realizes how close they actually are, and his giggles subside. He tries to hold his breath to make his hiccups stop, but they continue to shake his shoulders for longer than he can maintain eye contact with Harry.

He stands slowly, grabbing the kitchen roll and sponge, wetting it before crouching back down.

“I meant it: I’ll take care of it,” Harry says.

Zayn smiles but shakes his head. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have let him hold the container like that. It was bound to happen.”

Harry makes a frustrated sound. Zayn looks up. His mate seems impossibly tall from this angle. “I wish you would stop blaming yourself for everything,” Harry says, voice deep. Zayn can hear the strain. “I hate seeing you like this: you’re always so confident.”

Zayn looks back to the floor and the mess he’s unsuccessfully handling. He hiccups.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry says, slipping deeper into his alpha voice. It’s most likely on accident, but Zayn can’t control his reaction. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his heart skips a beat and his posture relaxes. “It was an accident.”

“I can’t talk about this now.” Zayn can hear the way his voice shakes, the way his pleas sound desperate.

“Okay,” Harry agrees. “But soon.”

“Soon, okay.”

~*~

Four nights into their vacation, and Zayn has managed to brush Harry off every time he approached to talk about losing their pup. It’s part luck and part skill, but mostly it involves using the children as a buffer.

Harry’s slept on the sofa, an awkward half hour in bed together the first night having been enough to convince him it may be better to have their own space at night. Zayn can see the toll it’s taking, the way Harry takes more medicine and plays with the pups less than normal. His back can’t take the sofa much longer, and Zayn argues with him that night. He keeps his voice to a whisper so the pups don’t hear them arguing.

“Just take the bed and I’ll sleep out there. Stop being so damn noble.”

“I’m not ‘being noble’ and I’m not taking your bed.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zayn snaps, his anger strong and unwarranted.

“This is stupid,” Harry says, putting his pillow back on the bed. “We have three kids: we’ve slept in the same bed without having sex for years. This isn’t any different.”

Zayn laughs, rolling his eyes and feeling his cheeks flush. Harry exaggerates, Zayn knows they have sex more often than should be possible with three young and nosey pups, but Zayn just rolls his eyes and crawls into bed.

Harry turns off the bedside light and crawls in after him. They’re silent for a few moments, both of them shifting into more comfortable positions even though all Zayn wants to do is push Harry onto his back so that Zayn can lay half on-top of him like they used to. He hasn’t had a full, solid night of sleep since he left their home and he misses it.

Of course, his husband can’t keep quiet for more than a few minutes at a time, and his voice cuts through the silence. “I think we need to talk about it.”

Zayn sighs. “I lost your pup, Harry. There isn’t really anything to talk about.”

Harry scoots closer, placing a hand gently on Zayn’s hip. “Is this okay?” Harry asks, nosing through Zayn’s t-shirt at their bond mark low on his collarbone.

Zayn wants to say it isn’t okay, that he isn’t okay and that means they aren’t okay, but he’s never gone so long without Harry’s touch and he’s selfish enough to want to keep it. “It’s okay,” he finally answers.

“You need to stop this,” Harry says, his alpha voice lower than Zayn’s ever heard it before. It strikes a chord deep within him. “You need to come home. I’m yours, I’ve always been yours, and I cannot let you forget that you’re mine, too.”

“Harry-“

“If you tell me that you want out of our bond, I’ll release you. You know I will. It will kill me to let you walk away and find someone else one day, but I will do it if you ask.”

Zayn can feel tears on his cheeks and he wonders when he started crying.

“I’ll do anything you ask,” Harry continues. “But I think it meant something when we bonded; I think a part of your soul is in me and I think you carry my heart in your hand.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Stop feeling bad for yourself,” Harry snaps. “We lost a pup, we. Key word there.”

“It wasn’t you, it was me. I did something and-“

“What did you do? What could you have done? Because I’m pretty sure you carried three of our babies with no problem. Sometimes people lose pups, sometimes pregnancies don’t go to term. And it’s not your fault.”

Zayn glares, hoping Harry can see it in the dark. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Zayn, we need to talk about it. This is killing me, it’s killing us and our family. You’re carrying this burden all by yourself and that isn’t fair.”

“I lost our baby!”

“Did you ever stop and think about me? Maybe I sent in a bad swimmer. Mum lost a couple babies before she had me, maybe it’s in my genes. Maybe this is my fault.”

Zayn can’t take it. He stands, kicking back the covers and reaching for a jumper. Harry’s bound out of bed before he can even pull it over his head, standing in front of him and pulling himself to his full height. He’s using his size to influence Zayn, and Zayn wants to part in it.

“Zayn, we made a baby and we lost a baby and I can’t let you carry that on your own anymore.”

“Get out of my way, Harry.”

Shoulders dropping in defeat, Harry steps to the side. Zayn pushes past him, flinging open their bedroom door and crossing down the hallway to get out the front door. He doesn’t know where he’s headed, doesn’t want to be too far from his pups, but he sucks in a few lungfuls of cool air until he feels himself start to relax.

He hears Harry not a moment later, his boots crunching across the loose stone walkway.

“I never felt him kick,” Zayn says, knowing the moment to air everything is finally here, whether or not he can handle it. “I didn’t get to see him grow or meet him. My job was to keep him safe and I failed.”

“Zayn, you didn’t fail. You couldn’t control it. We found out sooner than we should have; a lot of people lose pups before they even realize they’re pregnant. Liam and Louis did.”

Zayn looks over his shoulder at that.

“Liam told me. They’re not sure, but they think they lost a pup early on, right after Bella.”

“I didn’t know.”

“It happens to so many people, and it’s no one’s fault. It’s a terrible loss, but it shouldn’t drive us apart. Nothing should.”

“What if I don’t recognize him in heaven?” Zayn asks. “What if he’s waiting for us to get there and I don’t even know him? I was supposed to protect him and love him.”

Harry comes closer, and Zayn lets himself be pulled into a hug. He buries his face in Harry’s shoulder, his body shaking with the effort to hold back his tears. “Are you trying to tell me you think your heart won’t recognize one of its own? His heart was beating inside of you, your blood was his blood. You protected him as long as you needed to, and then he had to go away. But you’ll know him, Zee. You’ll recognize him.”

“I don’t know.”

“You love him, even now. You’re going to love him your whole life. And, when we find him after this, he’s going to know us and we’re going to know him.”

Zayn sniffs and wipes his eyes and he pulls back from Harry, his stomach hurting from trying to keep back his tears. “I feel like I failed him and you, both.”

Harry smiles at him, his own eyes red from tears he’s letting free. “You couldn’t fail me, duck.”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I couldn’t say all of this sooner.” He pulls Harry closer, this time. His arms wrap around his waist and he leans his forehead to Harry’s cheek. “I love you, I just couldn’t talk about it. I didn’t want it to have been real.”

“I get it,” Harry assures him. “I just want you guys to come home. I have never hated the sight of your parents’ home so much before.”

Zayn laughs, wet and snotty, as he presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. Harry turns his head, bringing their mouths together for a series of brief, rough kisses. He pulls back too quickly and Zayn pushes forward again, a whine high in his throat. He’s missed this: the intimacy and love with which Harry always holds him. He’s been denying himself this for so long, and he feels so stupid. Having said it all out loud, he doesn’t know why he ever thought Harry would judge him for the things he was feeling. Harry’s loved him since they met, they’ve loved each other, and there’s no one in the world who would understand him as well.

“I feel so stupid,” Zayn admits when he pulls away. He wipes his nose with his sleeve, his breaths deep. “I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you.”

“I’m sorry I let you walk away. I should have cancelled my trip right then and sat to talk about this. You were in pain and I could see it but I didn’t know how to reach you.”

“It’s okay, we’re okay.”

“But I can’t forgive myself for it,” Harry presses. “Not right away. I came home and part of me thought you’d be there?” his words tilt up at the end as if he’s asking a question. “I think I was in denial or working on autopilot, but I couldn’t understand that you had really gone at first. We’re forever: you and me. I’m sorry I didn’t stay and remind you.”

“I probably wouldn’t have listened. I’ll try to work on that.”

“We can work on some things, together,” Harry insists. “But, right now, we’re both exhausted and my back is desperate for a real mattress. Let’s go to bed and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Zayn nods, keeping an arm around Harry’s hips until they’re back in their room. He pushes Harry to sit on the bed, pressing him back against the pillows and shucking off his hooded jumper, crawling in next to him and letting his head rest on one of the sparrows. His fingers absently trace the tattoos Harry has for their pups, a flock of bird outlines flying. He traces the bird that represents him, then Zahir’s, Maya’s and Jawhar’s before starting again. It’s his version of counting sheep, and he’s missed it before bed.

“I missed you,” he whispers in the dark room.

“I missed you,” Harry responds, shifting a bit. Zayn tilts his head up for a kiss, a quick peck before Harry is settling back into the bed and Zayn’s scooting to the side so he isn’t on Harry as much, his fingers still tracing the black lines on Harry’s skin.

He falls asleep within minutes and sleeps until Maya wakes them the next morning, demanding a full fry up because, “I’m a growing girl and I’m _starving_ , daddy. And then can we go to the farm next door? Zahir says he saw a sign that says horses and _I_ think we should go see the horses, do you think they’re big? I bet they’re so big? Wake _up_ baba, it’s time for breakfast. Daddy, wake baba up.”

Zayn groans and gently pushes her closer to Harry. “They’re your pups until coffee is ready,” he grunts. He hears Harry laugh and get up. Zayn opens an eye, watching Harry pick Maya up and toss her on his shoulder, though she’s really too big for him to be straining his back like that.

He dozes again, the sound of them in the kitchen a bit loud, until a warm body snuggles in next to him and he peeks again to find Zahir on his belly, tucking himself into Zayn’s back.

“Alright, jaan?”

“They’re loud,” Zahir pouts, eyes closed and already drifting back to sleep.

He has a point, Zayn concedes, and he lets himself drift back to sleep, knowing Harry will let him have at least another fifteen minutes before he’ll put the coffee on.


	14. a little unsteady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two in one week, what? this just... happened. based on texts with Jenny from a million years ago. as always, this has barely been looked over.
> 
> deals with spanking a child. did not want to tag because... we all know why. the briefest mention of 'daddy kink' ever written. i haven't tagged it but let me know if i should. it's literally a second of the fic and can be viewed as just a joke because zayn is evil.

A startled yelp and loud cry come in quick succession from the upstairs toilet. Zayn jumps up from the kitchen table where he’s been balancing the family budget and races up the steps in a few quick leaps. Since becoming a parent, he’s heard plenty of his children hollering and crying out for either him or Harry. They’ve learned to distinguish between sibling fighting sounds, banged up knees and actual need. As Zayn hits the landing, his heart is racing in his throat because he had recognized Jawhar in the cry and his three-year old is rarely verbal. The sound had been one of complete despair. Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever heard a sound like that.

Rhino is already ahead of him, slower at nine than when he was a puppy but still alert and spry. Zayn follows him down the hall, turning into the toilet and stopping in his tracks when he sees Harry standing with Jawhar in his arms, pressing kisses to his cheeks and repeating an apology over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, bug. You just scared daddy, I was so scared.”

“What is going on?” Zayn asks, trying to keep his voice low. Rhino, having assessed the situation, backs out around Zayn’s legs and heads down the hall to where his dog bed is kept in the corner of their room. No one answers Zayn right away, and he uses the time to glance around the room, eyeing one of his razor edges laying haphazardly on the counter. “Harry? What happened?”

Harry’s cheeks are damp but it’s nothing like Jawhar’s tear-soaked skin. At the sound of Zayn’s voice, Jawhar turns in Harry’s hold and reaches out his hands.

“Baba, up!” he demands, eyes nearly closed and chest shaking with his tears.

Zayn takes him from Harry on autopilot. “Please don’t make me ask again about why the two of you are like this?”

His mate looks distraught. He breathes deep before passing a hand over his face. “I came in to shower,” he starts, words slower even than usual. “I saw- he had your razor. I just- he was shaving himself, playing pretend, and I got- Zayn, I got scared and I took it from him and… Zayn, I spanked him.”

Zayn really needs his husband to not be such a drama queen. Looking down at his baby’s red face, he amends his previous thought: Harry and Jawhar can both take it down a notch. “Is that what all of these tears are for?” he asks Jawhar, though he glances up at Harry as well.

“I think I hurt him,” Harry says, tears finally drying but eyes still filled with anguish.

“You probably just frightened him.” Zayn shifts Jawhar’s weight in his hold, Jawhar’s arms wrapping around Zayn’s neck. “It’s bedtime anyway,” Zayn tells Harry. “I’ll put him down and then we can talk. It’s all okay, stop looking so upset.”

He leaves Harry behind, relieved when he hears the sound of the shower starting. A nice, hot shower will relax Harry while Zayn tries to figure out how to move forward.

He’s never thought much for or against spanking. His parents had spanked him on the rare occasion and he knows Harry had been spanked before, as well. He doesn’t necessarily subscribe to the thought that a spanking or two will stunt a child’s development in any significant way but he does agree that there is almost always a better way of handling punishments. When one of their pups has been behaving badly, they typically dole out the same consistent punishment: apologies to the injured party and timeouts based on the severity of the issue. They’ve never even really discussed spanking, a fact which Zayn is now regretting. Watching Harry tear himself apart over something quite small is awful and Zayn reminds himself to have patience.

Pressing a kiss to Jawhar’s temple as they slip into his bedroom, Zayn finally puts him down and pulls out a pair of jammies for the night. “You okay, bug?” he asks. Jawhar looks upset still but his tears have stopped, a few lingering sobs wracking his small frame. It would be heartbreaking if Zayn didn’t find it so over-dramatic in the first place. “Let’s get you changed and we’ll have ourselves a little sleep, huh?”

Jawhar nods, helping undo his trousers and shuck them off.

“Can I see your bum, bug?” Zayn asks. He’s confident Harry hadn’t actually hurt Jawhar, but he wants to check and make sure; if Harry had been acting out of fear, it’s possible the blow he’d landed had been harder than he meant.

Jawhar nods again and turns, pulling his big boy pants down and standing still when Zayn puts a hand on his arm. As expected, Jawhar’s bum is completely unblemished- not even a hint of pink that would still be there from any sort of force behind the spanking.

“Thank you,” Zayn says as he helps Jawhar into a clean set of clothes. “Do you feel okay?” he asks. Jawhar nods but shrugs at the same time, lip out in a pout. “Daddy just got scared because you could have hurt yourself. Do you get that? Daddy got scared and then he accidentally scared you.”

Jawhar doesn’t respond, his mouth opening around a big yawn.

“Baba gets sleepy when he cries, too. Wanna get in bed for me?” He helps Jawhar climb into bed, tucking him in tight the way he likes it and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Jawhar has never been a fan of story time, so Zayn leaves without saying much more. Zayn keeps the door open a crack for Rhino, who will do a round of checkups before he settles in for the night, and then heads back to the toilet.

Harry’s standing in just his pants and a t-shirt, hair growing long again. His collar is wet where his curls touch and he’s standing on his tiptoes and shoving Zayn’s razor kit on the highest shelf in their linen cabinet. It’s ridiculous- there’s no way Zayn will be able reach it as Harry can barely toss it up there- but Zayn stays quiet until Harry is back flat-footed on the floor.

“Babe-“ he starts. At the sound of his voice, though, his mate turns to face him. His eyes show exactly how spooked he still is, growing wider.

“I’ve never spanked any of them before,” he says quickly, voice unnatural.

“I know.”

“I swear. I don’t even know how it happened. I just. He could have hurt himself and I went to take the razor from him and I was going to just tell him no and put him to bed early but then. I just- I spanked him.”

“It’s okay, babe.”

“I could have really hurt him though! I get upset because he could hurt himself but then I do it for him so it doesn’t matter. It all ends the same.”

Zayn ducks his head to roll his eyes to himself before looking back up. “There is a big difference,” he begins slowly before continuing, “between you spanking him once and him slicing his throat on a razor blade.”

“You didn’t see his face when it happened though. He looked- he was so scared. He looked like I betrayed him.”

Zayn steps closer, keeping quiet until he has Harry wrapped tight in a hug. Then, he speaks calmly into his hairline. “You are overreacting. Kids get spanked all of the time. It happens. I got spanked, you got spanked, and I think we’re doing alright.”

“But I swear: I’ve never done it before.”

“Oh Christ on a cracker, Harry,” Zayn says, pulling away with a small laugh. “No one is accusing you of abuse. I checked his bum- not even a hint of pink. You probably barely tapped him. And, if this stops him from playing with my razors, then I really am okay with it.”

“But what-“

“Harry, stop. You couldn’t hurt one of us. It’s not in your nature or in your DNA, I swear it.”

“What if he hates me?”

“He won’t,” Zayn answers. “You and Jawhar have your special bond; this won’t even be a memory for him. Let’s go to bed though. You’re in desperate need of a good sleep.”

Harry doesn’t protest and finally falls quiet, a dejected slump to his shoulders as he heads into their bathroom and crawls onto the bed and under the duvet. “I hate me.”

“Oh my god, Harry!” Zayn says, his voice loud around a laugh. “You are being the most ridiculous right now. If it makes you feel any better: you’ve spanked me plenty of times and it’s never hurt.”

Harry turns his head to look at him. “Now is not really the time to discuss that.”

“You deserve it,” Zayn shoots back before slipping out of the room. He goes to round up Zahir and Maya and convince them that it is time for lights out.

He finds Maya first and she resists, as usual. “I don’t feel tired,” she says, sassier at seven than most people are as adults. “I shouldn’t have to sleep if I don’t feel tired.”

Zayn hums and keeps a hand on her back, leading her into her room on the ground floor.

“I’ll go to bed,” she finally allows, as if she truly has a choice, “but if I don’t fall asleep because I’m not tired then you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

“Where do you learn some of the things you say?” Zayn says, rhetorically wondering aloud.

“Auntie Safaa.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and smiles. “Well, your auntie loves to sleep, almost more than Zahir and I. She sleeps all the time.”

“Well, that’s okay but I don’t.”

“Oh, I see,” Zayn says, still grinning as he picks her up and swings her so she’s standing up on her mattress. “Clothes off, time for jammies.”

Maya grumbles but listens and Zayn grabs her sleep clothes before helping her into them. She pushes her curls back from her face with both hands, sighing in the way only a child can. “Will my hair always be like this?” she asks.

“Oh, babe, you definitely got that from your daddy. But you’ve got my hairline, so you’re safe.”

She pouts, clearly confused. “I don’t know what that means but I’ll ask Grandma Anne when we see her next.”

“Sounds good,” Zayn says, coaxing her under the covers and picking up a book. “Do you want a story tonight?”

“I’m not tired,” she protests around a yawn. “I’ll read it myself.”

“Good night, love,” he says, kissing her before leaving the room and closing the door tightly behind him.

Zahir is already dozing off in bed as usual, a book on the nightstand close to falling off as if it had slipped there from his hand after falling asleep. Zayn tidies the room carefully, righting the book so it won’t fall and tossing Zahir’s clothes in the hamper. He turns off the light on the bedside table, the room instantly lit by glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.

Zayn’s yawning himself as he ducks into the kitchen to mark his place and pile away the budget sheets, having nearly forgotten them in the earlier excitement. He grabs a glass of water for himself before turning off the lights, setting the alarm on the door, and making his way back upstairs to their room.

If he had expected Harry to be sleeping, Zayn would have been disappointed. As it is, he’s not surprised to find Harry sitting up against the pillows, t-shirt shucked off to god knows where and hands fiddling in his lap. Zayn takes a self-serving second to drag his gaze along Harry’s body, the years having been good to his mate. Harry finally had given up on getting rid of the baby fat that clung to his hips five years ago, for which Zayn is grateful. He’s always told Harry how much he loves his soft hips.

“All the pups are asleep,” Zayn says, setting down his drink and undressing to his pants, putting his dirty clothes away and slipping into bed next to Harry, who hasn’t responded. “Babe?” Harry looks over at him. “Did you hear me? All the kids are asleep- at the same time.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, his expression still one of concern.

“If you’re not going to take the opportunity for a shag then I’m going to take care of myself.”

“No, I-“ Harry says, finally moving and getting his hands on Zayn’s waist above the elastic of his pants. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know if I can tonight. I keep thinking about it.”

“Oh, babe. You need to move past this.”

“I don’t think we can play around like that anymore though. Spanking you. I don’t know if that’s causing this kind of reaction.”

“Harry Malik, you’re telling me that it took thirteen years of consensually spanking me to cause you to swat Jawhar’s bottom once. Does that mean it will take another thirteen years for the next one to occur? Or is this an exponential-type correlation here?”

“I don’t like that you’re making fun of me.”

Zayn relaxes, his haunches having risen unintentionally. “Babe, I’m sorry. I know you’re upset about this. Hearing bug like that upset me, too. But you have to forgive yourself.”

“I know.”

“And don’t take it out on me. I’m pretty happy with the kind of sex we’ve had; I don’t take kindly to the threat of it being taken away.”

Harry smiles at that, dimpling as he looks over at Zayn from under his fringe. Feeling lighter, Zayn reaches up to brush Harry’s curls back, tucking the strands behind his ears as he leans in for a kiss. He makes it deep quickly, trying to partially distract Harry but also looking to take advantage of the privacy they have.

They shift across the mattress until Zayn is straddling Harry’s lap, both arms around his neck as he rocks down against Harry’s slowly hardening cock through the two thin layers between them. Just as Zayn’s about to open his mouth and ask for it, a peal of thunder is heard. It’s still some distance away, but Zayn responds to it the same way he always does. A shudder runs down his spine, his arms tighten around Harry’s shoulders, and he rocks his hips down with more intent.

“Fuck, Zayn, we can’t-“

“I know, I know,” Zayn answers him back, “it’s still far though, maybe we can if we’re quick.” Even as a child, Zayn had loved storms. It had only gotten worse, however, when he and Harry had been on their honeymoon in Scotland and a summer rainstorm had hovered over their rental for two days. The air had been charged with more than just their electricity, the rain had been a backdrop to their moans, and the dark clouds had turned everything cozy and warm. Zayn’s heat had been set off by their bonding and they had spent the entire storm fucking and sleeping, fucking and sleeping.

While heats were typically just a few days of overall increased sex drive, Zayn had made the decision to allow himself to fully succumb to the hormonal urges of his that time. Ever since, he’s had a Pavlovian response to incoming storms.

“Baby,” Harry groans, mouthing at the bond mark on Zayn’s collar bone as he reaches a hand around Zayn’s waist to get a feel of his arse. “You know we don’t have enough time.”

Zayn pouts playfully, knowing Harry’s right but not being able to resist teasing. “You don’t think you can do it?” he taunts.

“Not fair,” Harry says, using his grip on Zayn’s bum to pull him down into a faster rhythm. “I know what you’re doing.”

Laughing around a moan, Zayn hums and falls into the new motions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, daddy.”

“Fuck, not cool,” Harry says, his cock jumping against Zayn’s just as more thunder is heard, this one much closer.

In unison, they stop moving and hold their breath, listening. It doesn’t take long before they hear a thud followed by the sound of tiny feet coming down the hallway. With a sigh, Zayn shifts so he’s sitting on the bed by himself.

“You kind of did this to yourself,” Harry says in a matter-of-fact tone, sounding not unlike their daughter. Zayn rolls his eyes and tugs the duvet over their laps just as Jawhar pushes the bedroom door open, eyes wide as he looks inside. Harry tenses up next to him immediately and Zayn barely resists rolling his eyes again.

“Funder,” Jawhar says, small voice carrying in the now-quiet house.

“Yeah, it’s storming, bug,” Zayn says, patting the blankets and encouraging Jawhar to come inside. He lifts him up onto the bed, making to tuck him into his chest but then Jawhar shakes his head and pulls back.

“Daddy,” he says, reaching out for Harry. “Funder”

Like a string being cut, Harry relaxes instantly. His arms reach out for Jawhar, rubbing a hand down his back as he cuddles against Harry’s chest. “It’s okay, bug. I got you. Daddy’s here.”

“See? Jawhar still loves you. Nothing to worry about,” Zayn says, smiling and leaning in to kiss them both before more steps are heard and Maya and Zahir peek their heads in. “Come on in you two,” Zayn says as Harry scoots closer to the edge.

Harry stays on his back, Jawhar nosing at his skin. It’s a habit he’s had since a newborn, finding Harry’s scent. It’s the only thing that would relax him when he had colic as an infant, his father’s pheromones calming him. It’s Harry’s favorite thing about being an alpha, Zayn knows: the ability to calm them all when stress is high.

If only he could use it on himself.

Maya climbs up onto the bed, wiping at her eyes.

“Were you sleeping?” Zayn asks, keeping the smirk from his face only through a strong will.

Maya frowns at him but nods. “Woke me up.”

Zayn helps her scoot under the duvet next to Harry as he shifts to bracket her in, Zahir already taking up his spot behind Zayn. It’s a position they find themselves in often, the pups seeking solace in their parents’ room during storms or when Harry’s away for work. It’s a bit of a tight fit, and Maya will most likely move to the floor or the foot of the bed before morning, but it works for them.

He leans over Maya quickly, kissing Harry’s cheek near his temple. “Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you, too, but you’re going to pay for what you did earlier,” Harry shoots back with a smile, turning to catch Zayn’s lips quickly.

“Gross, no kissing!” Maya half-shouts, kicking her feet out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you say more kissing?” Harry asks, keeping one hand on Jawhar’s back as he leans forward further to get at Zayn’s mouth again. Jawhar laughs, dimples like his daddy’s on display as he turns his cheek to look at Maya.

“Daddy,” Maya whines. “Please stop.” She takes Jawhar’s hand when he holds it out for her.

“Why?”

“It’s yucky.”

“Oh, love, you’ll probably have to get used to it eventually. Daddy and I have been kissing for a long time. We probably won’t ever stop for good.”

“I think it’s gross, too,” Zahir says, though he’s already half-asleep where he’s curled into Zayn’s back.

“Two against two, how does the tie-breaker vote?” Harry asks, nudging Jawhar until he looks back at him. “Do you think it’s gross when daddy kisses baba?”

Jawhar shakes his head before pursing his lips. Harry grins and kisses him, too, before they all settle back in place. Zayn gets his arm over Maya’s tummy so he can link his hand with Harry’s on Jawhar’s back.

They fall asleep like that as the storm passes overhead.


	15. back on track

The seasonal shift happens almost overnight, going from blistering hot to blistering cold in the blink of an eye. By the time November is in full swing, it’s already the coldest autumn on record. It soaks into Harry’s skin even through his layers as he grabs their luggage, 10 year old Zahir helping Zayn get nine and a half year old Maya and almost-six Jawhar out of their car seats and into the house.

Harry’s surprised when Zayn comes back out with a grin, grabbing a suitcase with his gloved hand. “Get inside, it’s cold,” he admonishes automatically.

“I can help,” Zayn protests, rolling his eyes. He goes to pick it up but must see Harry’s glare, because he rolls it instead, the wheels clattering against the walkup.

Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of him the entire way up, shouldering their second bag that is full to the brim. He thinks to himself that it’s been a relief to not have to lug around a diaper bag for the past couple years before biting down on a smile and rushing ahead to get the door for Zayn.

“Such a gentleman,” Zayn teases, letting Harry take the luggage from him as he crosses the threshold.

Instantly, the warmth envelopes them both. The smell of lamb bhoona and aloo tikki are a tease from the direction of the kitchen, and Harry’s stomach is beginning its rumbling even as he’s helping Zayn out of his jacket. He can hear his three monsters playing upstairs with Waliyha’s daughter, and he shrugs off his own coat quickly before hanging them in the hall cupboard. Zayn’s already walking further into the house but Harry pulls him back, palming Zayn’s waist as his other hand tips his chin up for a kiss. “I love you,” he whispers against Zayn’s mouth, the words getting lost as Zayn surges forward. His arms are around Harry’s neck, keeping them close as they snog like teenagers in the entryway of Zayn’s parents’ house.

“You two are so gross.”

“Then stop watching,” Zayn sasses, pulling away and smiling at Safaa.

Her blue eyes are bright as she looks them over. “Are you two going to ever stop necking like teenagers? You're both nearly forty.”

“I hope not,” Harry says, finally letting Zayn go and pulling Safaa into a hug. “How are you?” he asks into her hair. “No Lucas today?”

He pulls back just in time to watch her roll her eyes, the spitting image of her brother only moments before. “That’s done. I don’t think other alphas are for me.”

“You’ll find your person,” Zayn reassures, moving in for his own hug.

“Or maybe a couple persons,” Harry teases, getting a punch to the arm from his mate for his trouble.

As he pouts and rubs at the spot, they move into the family room. Instantly, they’re passed between all of Zayn’s alpha aunties, getting hugged and kissed within an inch of their lives. It’s warm enough to put the memory of the outside cold far from Harry’s mind. He loses track of Zayn twenty minutes in, getting lost in a conversation with Sadia about her newest grandbaby, and when he looks up to search for his mate, he comes up short.

“Excuse me,” he says, but Sadia is already being pulled into a conversation with Doniya’s husband, and Harry slips away into the kitchen before anyone else can grab him.

As expected, Zayn’s in there with his mum, trying to sneak bites from all the pots on the stove under Trisha's watchful but often indulgent eye. Harry slides up to the worktop next to him after wishing her a happy birthday, unsurprised to find Jawhar at his daadi’s knee, tugging at Trisha’s dress and begging wordlessly for bites.

“Babe, we’ll be eating soon,” Harry tries, but Jawhar barely spares him a glance before looking back at Trisha with a pout.

“He’s a growing boy and it's almost his birthday,” she says with a smile, kneeling down and handing him a treat. Jawhar grins and purses his mouth for a kiss before biting into the sweet potato filled samosa.

“You wouldn’t let me have one earlier,” Zayn pouts, the spitting image of their youngest. Harry laughs as Trisha swats his hand away.

“Save some for your cousins.”

Zayn’s outrage is clear on his face, and Harry gets his palms on Zayn’s cheeks, smacking a kiss to his mouth obnoxiously. “You just ate,” he reminds.

“I’m a growing boy, too,” Zayn complains, and Harry thinks he sees Trisha watching them but when he glances her way, she’s stirring one of the open pots on the stove. Zayn cuddles under Harry’s arm, resigning himself to sneaking bites of the veggie platter set out on the table already.

Safaa and Sarwat come in then, Zayn’s aunt sweeping Jawhar into her arms as Maya and Waliyha’s daughter run through, Jawaad’s son chasing after them a moment later. Harry loves being in the Malik home, loves the busyness and warmth. In the beginning, he’d felt like he was almost borrowing Zayn from his family on some sort of loan, but every single member of his mate’s family has taken Harry into their heart and made him feel like he belongs. He watches Sarwat and Jawhar as they chat, his baby not one of many words. Jawhar chooses to “talk” with his hands and expressions more, his eyes always wide and observant.

Zileh and Maryum come into the kitchen, shooing Trisha away from the stove and taking over for her. “It’s your birthday,” they remind her, and she laughs in acquiescence before taking Jawhar from her sister-in-law’s arms.

“How’s my sunshine?” she asks, smiling when Jawhar bounces in her arms a bit and begins his side of the conversation. He's small for his age but still too big to be held all of the time, though Harry can hardly blame anyone. Jawhar has followed his brother in likeness to Zayn, the two boys looking like his spitting image. It's something Trisha comments on nearly every time they see her, how it's like having her boy be a baby again.

Harry turns away from the sight, nosing into Zayn's hair that’s just long enough to curl around his ear. “I love you,” he breathes, grinning when Zayn leans into his touch. The way he and Zayn always react so strongly to each other never fails to amaze Harry; he keeps expecting the attraction to dull.

He keeps being wrong.

Zayn turns his cheek and brings their lips together, quick, close-mouthed kisses for a second or two before Harry shifts back and sees Safaa watching them. Her eyes are narrowed.

“You’re pregnant,” she accuses, voice loud.

Harry hears the clatter of silverware, turning to look at Sarwat bend quickly to pick up the ladle she’d dropped on the floor. Zayn goes stiff under his arm, a growl in his throat. “Safaa, shut up.”

“Zayn, is that true?”

“Mummy, just ignore her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“It’s _obvious_ ,” Safaa defends herself as Trisha’s smile grows and she whispers a quick, “Mashallah” as she pulls Zayn into a hug. Harry stays to the side until Trisha reaches an arm for him as well. “My lovely boys,” she says as she presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “You spoil me with this.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Harry teases Safaa as Trisha lets them go. “We had an announcement all planned.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so handsy and possessive when he’s pregnant, then,” she challenges. “Anyone with eyes would have noticed right away. I just spared us the entire evening of mum casting not-so-subtle glances at his stomach.”

Harry concedes the point as Zayn and his mum laugh. Yaser walks into the room a second later, a confused smile on his face. “What are we all standing around for?” he asks, voice bright. “Is the food done? I’m starving.”

“Harry has something to tell you,” Safaa says. “He’s planned an _announcement_.”

Yaser’s face lights up in a smile as he looks from his daughter to his son, though he keeps quiet and allows Harry to speak.

“We were going to wait until after dinner,” he starts as he stands up, Zayn following him to press along his side, “but that didn’t work out. We didn’t want to steal your thunder on your birthday,” he tells Trisha, “But we wanted you guys to be the first to know that we’re pregnant again.”

Like his wife, Yaser instantly moves to pull them both into a hug. Harry’s got height on the whole Malik family, but he feels small in Yaser’s arms. Small and loved. It’s the fourth time they’ve announced a pregnancy- the ninth announcement of its kind that Yaser and Trisha have heard- but his in-laws have never lost enthusiasm no matter how often the same words are spoken. Trisha crowds in for a hug again, Zayn laughing into his baba’s shoulder.

“There’s more, there’s more,” Zayn says, pushing his parents away gently. He pauses, looking around at the impressive amount of extended family that have crowded into the modest-sized kitchen. “It's still a bit early but the doctor heard two heartbeats yesterday at our scan so... we’re having twins,” he says, his usually quiet voice carrying.

If Harry expected anything other than another bone-crushing hug, he would have been sorely mistaken.

“Can I have a samosa now mum?” he asks.

She laughs as she pulls away, wiping at her eyes and sniffling. Yaser keeps them in his arms for a second longer, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek before pulling back. “This is the best news,” he says, voice gentle like his son’s.

“The best,” Trisha echoes.

Zayn’s aunties and cousins crowd in for their own congratulations. Harry’s being passed from Aaroosa to her mum when he hears his mate behind him, his voice cajoling.

“No seriously. Mummy, may I have a samosa? I am eating for three.”


	16. pregnancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quickest little drabble ever. for jenny, as always
> 
> this chapter deals a lot with pregnancies. nothing too detailed, no specifics, just the concept of being pregnant. zayn also gets a probe ultrasound but it isn't discussed how. everything is glossed over.

When Zayn had first found out he was pregnant with Zahir, Harry had cried. Not just a single, solitary “manly” tear, but actual sobs that hurt his chest later that night. They had been trying for so long, had watched Louis and Liam become parents to first Bella and then the twins, Diana and Jordyn, and it was finally going to be their turn.

Harry had taken each pregnancy symptom in stride. When Zayn’s feet or back would hurt, Harry would give him a massage and make him take it easy. When his sweet tooth got strong, Harry had gone to his in-laws’ house to learn from Yaser how to make besan barfi and surprise Zayn. (He had decided then to buy all future orders from the Indian baker down the street from their flat because, though it was worth the work to see the smile on Zayn’s face, it was easier and more consistent to let the pros handle it.)

When Zayn started having heat-like symptoms in his fifth month, Harry had placed a frantic call to their OBGYN. When she had confirmed, twice, that a pseudo-heat is completely normal to experience several times and that sex during pregnancy is safe, Harry had flung his mobile to the floor and tumbled Zayn carefully into their sheets, not letting go until Zayn was finally sated.

When Zahir’s heartbeat had started dropping in the delivery room and Zayn was exhausted and panicked after hours upon hours of hard labor, Harry had kept his cool and made the decision to put Zayn under anesthesia to deliver their baby by C-section. Though fear had threatened to overcome him, he had a mate and a baby depending on him. Every single thing that Zayn needed during his pregnancy, Harry had done. After all, he wasn’t the one exhausted and cramping for months just to bring their child into the world.

It had all been worth it, though, when they were holding their 10 pound baby boy in their arms, both of them so exhausted but grinning with absolute pride.

 

 

An ‘oopsie moment’ a month later had led to Maya, Harry had been delighted to do it all over again. This time around, Zayn claimed he was craving more fruit. Harry will admit, that had thrown him initially. Zayn was an equal opportunity snacker, usually, but fruit was difficult. Grapes? Strawberries? Bananas? Thankfully, he cottoned on when he saw how many cartons of mango and pomegranate sorbet Zayn put into their trolley when they’d gone out for their big shop, Zahir sleeping soundly in his car seat with his daddy pushing and his baba wandering around looking for snacks, one hand cradling his belly.

Maya had come early and they had followed the doctor’s suggestion to undergo another C section. Zayn was awake for this one, a permanent grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Does it hurt?” Harry had asked, staying near Zayn’s head and pressing kisses to his forehead.

Zayn had shaken his head. “No, just, ugh- weird pressure.”

“You’re doing so well,” Harry said, brushing Zayn’s curls back from his face. He hadn’t had a haircut in months at that time, possibly since Zahir was born, and his beard was a few days thick. Harry scratched his nails against the grain of the wiry hairs, pressing a kiss to the line of his jaw.

Maya was significantly smaller than Zahir and cried from the very moment she could until she finally fell asleep, deeply exhausted, five minutes later.

 

 

Jawhar had been conceived almost as soon as they had started trying again. So quickly, in fact, that Zayn hadn’t realised he was pregnant until nearly four months in. The cravings were at a minimal; everything made him sick instead. Still, Harry did his best to keep Zayn happy. He made sure there were saltines and dry biscuits near the bed so he could get some food in his system in the mornings before nausea set in. He kept dinners bland, mostly rice and chicken though Zayn would pout at every meal before eventually eating every bite.

To keep Zayn off of his feet as much as possible, Harry enrolled Maya and Zahir in a child-friendly martial arts class that met several times a week. After barely a fortnight, his plan to give Zayn a break ended up being useless when Zayn demanded to tag along to all of the lessons.

“I miss them when they’re not here,” he had said with a shrug, buckling himself into the passenger seat. Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, just made sure they had enough ginger tea and pretzels in case Zayn started feeling unwell.

After all that, Jawhar had been an easy delivery. A scheduled C section had gone exactly as planned. Jawhar had been just as quiet as his brother. Harry had held him first, hands supporting his head as he kissed his forehead and nose, Jawhar snuffling in response.

 

 

Harry has to admit though, now, he has no idea how much help Zayn would need when carrying twins.

They find out they’re pregnant incredibly early and Harry starts worrying from the beginning. Half of the worry is centered around Zayn, who had taken the hit the hardest when they’d lost a pup three years before. The other half is focused on general pregnancy concerns: how will the pups handle it, how will Harry handle it, is the house big enough.

They find out they’re expecting twins eight weeks in, when Zayn opens up to Harry like he’d requested after their post-miscarriage separation. Zayn voices his concerns about another loss and Harry calls their usual doctor to schedule an early ultrasound. The technician performing the scan is a young alpha, obnoxiously chipper at eight in the morning. After fifteen years of learning to love sleeping in with his mate, Harry has the same grouchy expression on his face that Zayn does at the pure energy coming from the small woman.

Zayn grits his teeth when the probe is inserted, the gel always catching him off guard with how cold it is. Harry leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead, his fingers stroking along the line of Zayn’s freshly-smooth jaw.

“What if-“ Zayn starts to whisper, chin tilting up to breathe his words directly into Harry’s ear.

At the same moment, the technician grins. “Keep an eye out. Holler if you see it.”

Zayn frowns down at her. “What?”

Bless her heart but her smile doesn’t fade the slightest even though Harry can feel the stress and tension wafting off of Zayn’s slight frame. “Just a bit of a joke, I’ll do the hollering, thank you very much.”

Zayn opens his mouth but no sounds come out, his attention immediately focused on the monitor. As the ultrasound comes to life. He’s staring at the fuzzy images on the screen, intent. Harry doesn’t know whether to look as well or keep his eyes on Zayn, wanting to be ready for whatever Zayn needs. They had only recently decided to try again, Zayn having been unwilling to risk another loss, and Harry knows his anxiety levels are high when he watches Zayn suck in a deep breath and hold it.

The draw of seeing their baby tugs at Harry’s curiosity. He presses a kiss to Zayn’s cheek and follows his gaze. The technicians is clicking a button on the machine, looking like she’s taking a 360 degree scan of what she’s seeing, when she finally pauses.

“There’s your baby,” she says, in a calmer voice than Harry had expected. She’s still smiling wide, her finger touching the screen as her other hands draws a triangle around the little bean-shape with the machine. “About a centimeter.”

Harry feels Zayn relax, the bad energy floating off of him like it was evaporated away. “I can’t- that’s my baby,” he says, voice low. When she gives him the go ahead he shifts a bit, bringing his head up to better see the screen. The image shifts with him, coming back into focus a second later.

Harry’s still watching their baby at the top of the screen which is why he doesn’t at first realize the image has sharpened and changed with the slight shift in angle. It’s only when Zayn gasps that Harry’s attention is pulled back. “S’matter?” he murmurs.

“Is that two?” Zayn says just as the technician is announcing, “Looks like twins.”

Harry doesn’t really remember what happens next.

 

 

Everything about having twins is doubled. Zayn’s cramps and cravings and hormone shifts are all twice as frequent as they were with their older three. By the time Zayn hits the end of his first trimester, he’s crying nearly every day. The first few times Harry had watched the tears build in Zayn’s eyes, he had freaked out and over-comforted his mate, leading Zayn to either cry harder or instantly get defensive. Now, Harry’s calmer about the shifts and takes them in stride. He keeps Maya distracted when they hit, his daughter the most susceptible to picking up her baba’s mood swings, and does whatever Zayn needs if he’s able to vocalize it. If not, Harry just stays as close and available as he can.

Gone are the days of small swells and barely-there hints of pregnancies. Zayn is obviously carrying from about two months in and he gains weight at a rapid pace over the next four weeks. It makes Harry puff his chest with pride as he looks at his mate and their perfect little family, though he sees too often the weariness that Zayn carries.

One night, about thirteen weeks in, Harry comes into their bedroom for the night to find Zayn sobbing into his pillow. Fighting the instant urge to panic, Harry pulls off his socks and climbs into bed. “Can I hold you?” he asks. When Zayn nods, he gets his arms around his mate carefully, pulling Zayn up and tucking him against Harry’s chest. He strokes a large hand down the ridge of Zayn’s spine. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“They always kill the mom.”

Thrown, Harry pulls his head back and looks down at Zayn’s tear-soaked cheeks. “Come again?”

“In the movies, it’s always the mom who dies.”

Ahh. Harry’s going to burn every animated film they own. “Which movie did you watch, duck?”

“ _Land_ _Before_ _Time_ ,” Zayn mumbles.

“That’s a tough one,” Harry agrees, his voice taking on the same tone it does when Jawhar is trying to explain to Harry how hungry he really is ten minutes after finishing dinner: understanding but unyielding. “You do know it’s just a movie though, right babe?”

“The dinosaurs did die, though. What if some of the moms died first?”

Harry holds back a smile, knowing it would only upset Zayn further. Instead, he doesn’t respond. He kisses Zayn’s forehead and cuddles him closer until his breathing is even.

“Harry?” Zayn says, his nose still sounding stuffed up. “I don’t think I want any more kids after this. I think five is good.”

Harry tilts Zayn’s chin up to look in his eyes. “I think five is the very best,” he agrees. “Can I get you anything? You want some chocolates?”

“Ew. No, why would I want chocolate?”

Used to the different cravings for different pregnancies, Harry doesn’t even bat an eye. “I can get or make you anything you want.”

“I don’t want anything right now,” Zayn says with a little sigh. “Can you just rub my head a bit?”

Zayn doesn’t wait for an answer, just scoots down the bed until his head is in Harry’s lap, lips nearly pressing into the hem of Harry’s t-shirt. Automatically, Harry’s hands drift down to run through Zayn’s hair, thicker and shinier than usual from the pregnancy. It’s long, too, and Harry twists the wavy locks around his fingers.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, voice soft. He knows Zayn hasn’t yet fallen asleep but he doesn’t want to break the stillness of the moment. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Zayn snorts a little, nosing into Harry’s stomach and biting through his t-shirt. “You’re a sap.”

Harry doesn’t disagree.

 

 

By six months in, Zayn looks like a boy who shoved a football under his shirt instead of a pregnant omega. His belly is as big as it had been the day before he’d delivered Zahir but it’s much higher, sitting right above his hips. He walks around with one hand underneath it at almost all times, looking as if he’s going to fall right over. Harry delights in it.

“My beautiful mate and our beautiful boys,” Harry says on a constant loop, often getting his hands on Zayn or the bump at random points in the day, just enough to repeat the phrase again.

“Yeah, yeah, caveman,” Zayn grumbles. “I don’t need- Harry, I can make muffins by myself. I don’t need you hovering- Harry, stop it.”

Zayn hardly ever raises his voice, so Harry stops immediately where he’d been bent down to grab out a bowl.

“I appreciate you helping me,” Zayn says. “But I can do this without you hovering over me.”

Harry hears not only the annoyance in Zayn’s tone but also the self-restraint, his mate clearly trying to control a hormonal spike. Harry finds the bowl quickly and sets it on the counter. “I know you can,” he says, adamant. “But I also know I can be a bit much,” he’s quick to add on. Harry reaches his hands out, smiling when Zayn links their fingers together and allows himself to be tugged gently closer. Hugging would be nearly impossible in Zayn’s current state but Harry doesn’t have unnaturally long arms for nothing. He holds Zayn close for a long moment, nosing at the scent gland right behind his ear. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Zayn answers, shoulders having relaxed during the hug. Harry can still hear a bit of strain in his voice, though, so he backs away and leaves Zayn alone in the kitchen. He doesn’t get more than a few feet into the hallway when six year old Jawhar and nine year old Maya come running to him.

“Daddy, Maya says she’s the boss of me.”

“I _am_.”

Harry grins, lifting Jawhar into his arms. He’s small for his age but Harry still feels the usual twinge in his back. He ignores it and lets Jawhar wrap his arms around Harry’s neck. “Why are you trying to be the boss?” he asks, cupping the back of her head as they walk away from the kitchen to give Zayn some space.

As Maya launches into one of her rambling stories, explaining that she should be the boss because she’s ‘older and smarter’, comments that make Jawhar wiggle in Harry’s hold and make an offended sound, they pass ten year old Zahir reading a novel in the den in the back of the house. Harry pauses but lets Maya finish speaking. “I see what you mean,” he allows. “Hold that thought one second though. Zed?” Zahir looks up at him, expression annoyed at having been pulled away from his book. “Baba’s about to do some baking, d’you wanna help him?”

Instantly, the annoyance passes and Zahir is shooting up from his chair and rushing past them with a grin. Harry rolls his eyes and leads them all into the room, settling on the sofa with a child on either side.

“Maya, I don’t know if you’re necessarily the boss of bug, here.” She opens her mouth to protest. “I just mean to say,” Harry rushes on, “that baba and daddy are the bosses. You three- and your brothers- are kids. If you want to be the boss, babe, then you have to do boss stuff.”

“Daddy, she’s not the boss,” Jawhar says at the same time Maya sits up straighter and looks at him with her wide, Bambi eyes and asks, “What’s boss stuff?”

“Well, you have to do all of Jawhar’s chores if he can’t. Like when he fell asleep the other night and baba washed all the dishes by himself. Or, you have to make sure you have dinner ready when Jawhar is hungry-“

“Jawhar’s _always_ hungry,” she grumbles, Jawhar nodding.

“’M hungry right now.”

Harry ignores it, used to the bottomless pit of his- current- youngest child. “You have to give him a bath and make sure he brushes his teeth and you have to clean his clothes after he spills on them or plays in the mud pit you two seem to love in the back garden.”

“I- okay,” Maya allows. “I don’t want to be the boss, then.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

“But Cecily says that she gets her brother to do stuff for her all the time.”

Harry bites back what he thinks of Cecily and the environment in which she is being raised- two parents who hate each other and make sure everyone knows, using their kids as props in their pending divorce. Instead, he tries to take a note from Zayn’s book.

“What is it that you wanted bug to do?”

“I was bored and he wouldn’t play dress up with me because he was playing blocks.”

“Have you thought about trading? You play blocks with Jawhar for a bit and he’ll dress up with you? Would you be okay with that, bug?”

Jawhar nods, wriggling off of the sofa. “Can we play tea and have actual biscuits, too?”

“That could be arranged. Maybe if we go ask baba right now, he can make you guys something for when you’re done playing blocks.”

“If there’s biscuits then I’m done now,” Jawhar says, making Maya laugh.


	17. pregnancy sex - that's the title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted on tumblr. For Jenny, who has a birthday today. Thank you for always, babe!
> 
> This is.... just a trash chapter, honestly. It's just an excuse to 1) practice my smut scenes a bit and 2) write pregnancy Zayn getting dicked. The ending is terrible. I'm working on learning how to wrap things up better. I gave this the briefest of read-throughs and I apologize for any errors! If anything is glaring, let me know!!

“I think they’re all betas.”

Zayn snorts. He’s on his side in the middle of their bed, skin still slick with sweat from a celebratory round of ‘the kids are at grandma’s house’ sex. His usual pregnancy heat has been coming on in waves over the past few days and he still feels the hum of arousal just under his skin even as his breath returns to even. Harry’s starting them a bath in the adjoining room, the sound and smell of Zayn’s favorite bath bomb tempting him out of the bed.

He sits up carefully, legs spread wide to accommodate his ever-growing belly. He’s nearly five months in and almost bigger than he had been right before he had delivered Jawhar. It’s a bit scary, especially when he considers how long he still has to go, but right now he isn’t thinking about anything but getting into that tub.

He stretches and pads naked across the wood floor, stopping in the doorway. “There’s no way you think Maya is a beta,” he challenges.

Harry- just as naked, just as sweaty and just as fucked-out looking as Zayn feels- glances over at him as he climbs into the bath, the artificially aqua water lapping at his calves. “D’you think she’s an alpha?”

“I’ve been putting my money on her being an alpha since she was two weeks past her due date and then my labor was only fifteen minutes,” Zayn retorts. “She’s been doing things on her time and in her own way since ‘go’.”

Stepping further into the room as Harry laughs, Zayn braces his hands on Harry’s shoulders and lets his mate help him step into the water. It’s hot to the point of initial burn, exactly how Zayn likes it. He follows Harry down into the water, the deep soaker tub one of his favorite places in the entire house. Especially with his husband right behind him, his warm, tattooed arms wrapping possessively around Zayn’s stomach.

“I don’t think any of our pups are betas,” Zayn says after a moment. It’s quiet in the tub between them usually, the two of them typically dozing off to the sound of the water lapping at their skin and the fizz of their bath bomb du jour.

Harry hums from behind him. He shifts a bit as if he had already been nodding off. “I missed that,” he apologises, pressing a kiss to the side of Zayn’s head. “What did you say?”

Zayn repeats it, shifting over a little so he can look at Harry behind him. Harry runs his palm across the swell of Zayn’s stomach, the tub deep enough that the water covers him completely. Zayn glances down at the ripples in the water.

“I can see Zahir presenting as an alpha,” Harry allows, his hesitation and obvious omission giving his thoughts away.

Zayn grins and looks back at him, wanting to see Harry’s reaction when he says, “I think Bug is obviously an omega.”

He can feel that Harry’s offended even before the expression crosses his face. “Jawhar is no such nonsense.”

“S not nonsense, being omega,” Zayn scoffs, relaxing back into Harry’s hold and facing forward again. Harry’s arms tighten around him reflexively, as if in apology. His lips press against Zayn’s temple again, a bit dry and chapped until the sweat and drops of water from the tub get them wet. “Being omega is a blessing. You wouldn’t have your babies without me.”

“I know, love, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. Bug would be lucky to be an omega; I just don’t think it’s likely. He’s so bossy and headstrong.”

Zayn giggles, shaking against Harry’s wet chest. “Because I’ve never bossed you around?”

“I- okay, I don’t like this topic anymore. Why are we talking about the pups when we’re both naked, anyway? Waste of an opportunity, I think. Let’s have sex.”

Still laughing, Zayn shakes his head. “Not gonna fall for that, I know it’s too soon for you to go again.”

“I’ll show you ‘too soon’,” Harry grumbles, manhandling Zayn around with care and circling his hands around the small of Zayn’s back. Their skin slips together as Zayn’s thighs spread apart over Harry’s lap, his cock soft but growing possibly interested.

Zayn gasps as he feels his knees slipping against the porcelain, but Harry’s hold is, of course, strong and Zayn soon settles comfortably against his mate’s chest, hands braced against the back of the tub. Once he’s steady, one of Harry’s hands teases a trail down his back. His fingers press into Zayn’s hole, feeling the stretch from their last round as he tilts his chin against Zayn’s to coax him into the best position for a kiss.

“Gonna let me fuck you again?” Harry asks. “Gonna let me pull you down on my knot?”

“In here?” Zayn asks, lips dragging across Harry’s skin as he speaks.

“Do you want it in the bath? I could take you back to bed, get you on your knees.”

Zayn groans, his cock definitely more than ‘interested’ at this point, especially when he feels Harry growing hard against the inside of his thigh. “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s kind of- I feel a little warm already,” he says. He would love to stay in the bath, the water lapping at his skin as his mate takes him and makes him just as wet inside, but the air is already hot and humid and he knows they’ll just make it more so. “Take me to bed,” he whispers, making a decision and sucking a line of kisses down the line of Harry’s jaw.

He lets Harry help him stand again, the water rushing off of them and splashing back into the tub as they get to their feet. Harry has an arm or hand on Zayn at all times as they step from the tub, keeping him steady but also keeping him close. The bath mat under their feet is soon soaked and Harry doesn’t let Zayn’s feet leave it until he’s grabbed their towels and handed one off, rubbing it through his hair distractedly as Zayn towels off more carefully.

“I’ll meet you in there?” Zayn says. It’s his way of asking Harry to wait behind to allow him enough time to get settled in bed. Zayn isn’t often self-conscious but his heat and pregnancy combined are a double assault on his hormones and, therefore, his self-confidence.

Harry pouts but agrees, leaning in to kiss Zayn sweetly before turning to drain the tub. Zayn walks out of the room slowly, one hand under his navel as he continues to dry his hair with the other. He lifts a knee onto the mattress, tossing the towel in the direction of the hamper, uncaring if it makes it or not. He gets settled on all fours in the middle of the bed, his belly hanging in a way that feels surprisingly comfortable, though he knows the weight will make his back ache before too long.

He thinks his heats give the pups a bit of a hazy feeling like they do to him, as he’s never once felt a kick or punch during one. He giggles as he bends his knees and pulls a pillow to cushion under his belly. He can’t imagine one of the pups kicking in the middle of sex- thinks it would pull him completely out of the mood- but he finds it funnier to picture Harry’s face if it were to happen.

The door to the toilet closes and Zayn hears Harry walking closer. “What’s so funny?” he asks, his voice deeper than usual. “God, baby, you look so good.”

Zayn’s giggles quiet then. He shifts back onto his knees, straightening his arms and presenting for his mate. He can feel himself spread, a hint of cool air teasing at his hole. It makes him feel good. He feels a little desperate for it, his heat bringing sweat to his temples as he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and arches his back even more.

Harry’s groan is his reward, his mate’s scent changing and growing stronger. Harry climbs onto the bed behind him, skin warm where he presses against the back of Zayn’s thighs. Zayn turns his head, craning his neck to look behind him. Harry pulls his hips away just enough to lean forward for a kiss.

Zayn moans into it, his hole clenching around nothing as if his body can sense how close Harry’s cock is. He licks into Harry’s mouth, greedy with want. Harry’s hands- always on Zayn’s body, always stroking along his skin- spread him further even than the arch of his back does. His thumbs rub along either side of Zayn’s hole, the glide smooth with Zayn’s slick.

The kiss ends as Zayn pulls away to catch his breath. He turns his head away from Harry, biting his wrist when Harry presses both of his thumbs inside Zayn at the same time. The touch is a tease, not long enough to be his cock or thick enough to be his knot. A growl fights its way out of Zayn’s throat as he pushes his hips back.

“Look at you,” Harry whispers, almost as if the words weren’t meant for Zayn to hear. But they were- they always are- because Harry knows that nothing gets Zayn wetter than praise when it’s said in his rough, reverent way.

“Harry, I need-“ Zayn starts but Harry shushes him.

“You need my knot, don’t you?” he asks. Zayn nods, whimpering when he feels Harry’s breath ghost against his dripping hole. He doesn’t even remember Harry shifting down like that but there he is, tongue teasing at the slick that spreads down Zayn’s taint. Harry’s lips ghost against Zayn’s balls before he drags them up in a line of wet, sloppy kisses.

“Ha- I-“ Zayn moans, shifting his hips to ride his husband’s face when Harry slips in his tongue. He can feel Harry’s chin pressing against his taint every time he pulls back to breathe, the trail of his nose when he dives back in. “Harry!”

“Baby,” Harry says, pressing the word into Zayn’s hole. “What do you want?”

“Daddy,” Zayn says, knowing the word will goad his alpha into action.

Sure enough, Harry stutters out a string of curse words so vile that even Zayn flushes from it. Harry straightens up and presses the thick length of his cock to Zayn’s arse, rocking his hips and rutting against Zayn’s skin before one of his hands goes to Zayn’s lower back and presses gently.

The guide of it helps Zayn arch a little bit further, his heavy belly resting perfectly on its pillow. Harry’s other hand isn’t touching him anywhere and Zayn’s about to pout and say something when he feels Harry’s knuckles and then the head of his cock as he obviously guides it into Zayn’s loose hole.

“Yes, fuck,” Zayn groans, his body instantly taking Harry in greedily. His pregnancy heats are stronger even than the heat Harry had fucked him through when they’d married and mated. He usually spends twenty four hours in constant need of his alpha’s knot and touch but they usually get a few days’ warning. It’s enough to get the pups out of the house and the animals all settled, as looking up to find Bubbles the (evil) bunny watching them would be the only thing more awkward than having a bump baby kick during sex.

“You know what you do when you say that,” Harry groans, gripping Zayn’s waist with both hands. He thrusts his hips and pulls Zayn back with his arms in quick succession, getting into Zayn deep and making him shake from the relentless pleasure against his spot.

Zayn slips down so he’s got his elbows planted in the soft mattress. The angle changes with his movements and Harry starts rutting into him faster. “Need it, Harry.”

Normally, he might be embarrassed by the way his voice breaks or the way his whole body is shivering with need and want but he can’t find shame anywhere in himself. He’s in his element, round and pregnant with his alpha’s twins and getting some of the best sex of his life thanks to the extra hormones. He’ll feel sore and achy tomorrow, will pout for a back rub or maybe some attention on his over-worked feet but, for now, he focuses on hearing Harry’s grunts and sighs. The sounds are the sign that his alpha is getting close to knotting, and Zayn clenches down as tight as he can to coax Harry the rest of the way there.

When Harry’s knot grows, it’s slow and gets almost unnaturally. His alpha’s hormones know that Zayn can’t get pregnant again and most sex they have happens without even a hint of knot, but a pregnancy heat is a separate monster entirely and the two of them will stay locked together for ten or twenty minutes while Harry empties inside of him.

Zayn pants and keens during the stretch, using what little leverage he has to rock back and forth on Harry’s dick for some extra stimulation.

“C’mere, I want to try something,” Harry says, his voice deep.

“Anything,” Zayn agrees. “Please.”

Zayn feels Harry’s hands move to his elbows, pulling his arms back and up until he uses his strength to get Zayn upright, Zayn’s back pressing tight to Harry’s chest. The new position means his bump no longer has its pillow support but Zayn and gravity can take over and get Harry’s knot popped inside of him fully, finally.

Harry’s lips trail kisses along Zayn’s damp hairline, sweat and bathwater mixing to form goosebumps along his skin that Harry’s touch does nothing to calm. Harry’s hand slips down Zayn’s hip to circle his cock, thumbing at the head and spreading a line of slick to make the slide easier while his other hand cradles Zayn’s bump.

“You did this for us,” Harry says, slightly out of breath from the force of his orgasm. “So full of my pups, bringing our babies into this world. You’re so- _fuck_ \- you’re more than I deserve, baby.”

“ _Don’t_ … _forget_ … _it_ ,” Zayn pants out as if the words are being tugged involuntarily from his throat. Harry’s fingers are holding him so perfectly that he knows he’s about to come and he closes his eyes, scrunches his brow, and focuses on Harry’s hands and Harry’s knot until he finally releases in Harry’s palm with a half-swallowed moan. “ _Harry_.”

Harry wrings every drop of come from him before finally letting go. Zayn feels him shift and hears him wipe his hand on the sheets. It’s Harry’s responsibility to do laundry, though, so Zayn doesn’t mind.

“You’re the one sleeping in the wet spot,” he says quickly, just to make sure Harry knows.

Harry laughs behind him and presses another kiss to his temple. “I know, baby. C’mon, though: let’s lay down for a bit.”

Moving is slow and awkward when knotted, especially without the aid of arousal coursing through either of them, but they manage to relax into the sheets soon enough. Already, there’s a small cramp making itself known in the arch of Zayn’s foot, but he breathes in deeply and ignores it for the time being.

Zayn’s trying to relax around the intrusion of Harry’s knot, which is showing zero signs of going down, when Harry sighs and shifts against him.

“Baby,” he starts, voice almost back to normal. His hands are both curled around Zayn’s belly, rubbing small, soothing circles in a distracted fashion.

Zayn hums and turns his head to show he’s listening.

“You know I didn’t mean to imply presenting omega is bad.”

“Oh, Harry,” Zayn sighs and chuckles. “That been bothering you?” He feels Harry’s nod and then a press of a kiss. “I know you didn’t, babe.”

“I don’t want to think about any of the pups growing up.”

“Same.”

“It’s kind of hitting me that these are our last little babies. This will be the last time we’re pregnant, the last Maliks you carry.”

“You’re a buzzkill, babe,” Zayn teases, though he lifts his hand to link with Harry’s fingers. They’ve had this same conversation a few times already so Zayn isn’t surprised by the way Harry feels. Since losing the baby they’d later named Qamar, they’ve had more practice in discussing the day to day stressors as well as the big things.

“I know,” Harry laughs. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when- in a bit.”

Zayn doesn’t need much encouraging past that. He strains his neck turning it and purses his lips, smiling into the kiss Harry gives him. “Love you,” Zayn says.

“Love you,” Harry replies.


	18. something unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Just a little something I've had in my head for a while now. Hope you like it!

The sound of a knock on the door comes around midday on Sunday. It’s an otherwise quiet day, just Zayn and the twins. His parents had taken the older three pups for the weekend and Harry’s out of town for work. He’ll be back the next day, though, so Zayn’s been alternating between cleaning and entertaining the eighteen month olds. He’s taking a break when he hears the soft knocking from where he’s lounging in the living room. Danyal is toddling around in just his diaper- exactly like his father with how much he hates wearing clothes- and Sami is curled up to Zayn’s chest, in a fussy mood where he refuses to let Zayn stop holding him but doesn’t want to play with Zayn much, either.

“C’mon with me, then,” Zayn mutters as he stands carefully and crosses the room towards the front foyer. Danyal pays them no mind, babbling to himself about something as he plods around on unsteady toddler toes. Bongo and Cindy rush to pass them up, curious to see who has come for a visit. Sami fusses at Zayn, slapping his pudgy hands on Zayn’s cheeks. “Let’s see who’s here,” Zayn tells him in a soothing tone. “Let’s see.”

There’s a young man on the front step when Zayn peers through the window next to the heavy oak door. The hinges are a little squeaky- he’ll have to remember to oil them later- and he smiles as he pulls open the door. He assumes the lad is some kind of salesman. “Hello,” Zayn says pleasantly, shifting his hold under Sami’s bottom when the one and a half year old gets nervous in front of the stranger and buries his face in Zayn’s shoulder to ‘hide’ himself. “Can I help you?”

Bongo barks from behind the door, his wet nose ticking at Zayn’s calf through his jeans as the dog tries to peer around his legs at the visitor.

“Hush, you,” Zayn mutters, nudging him away with his foot. Cindy takes the opportunity to trot outside, slipping between Zayn’s ankles and skittering around the stranger’s space before she plops down in a patch of grass at the foot of the front steps, reclining in the sun.

“It’s a bit of a zoo around here, sorry,” Zayn says.

The lad’s been quiet while the house flutters around him. He thumbs at the hem of his too-large jumper and stares down at the ground where his nice shoes are getting scuffed from him kicking his toes against the ground. Zayn can’t see too much of his face at first but he has an eyeful of the boy’s uneven hairline, one side receding just a slight bit more than the other, though he’s clearly young. His hair looks thick and curly, though, a golden blonde tone that’s cast a few shades lighter by the midday sun. It’s pulled back into a low bun, sitting full on the edge of the lad’s shirt collar.

Something about the boy seems familiar to Zayn but he can’t quite figure it out from the sparse bit of him that he can see.

The silence awkwardly drags on for a few seconds longer than Zayn is comfortable with. The lad’s emitting a strong amount of nervous energy, anxious pheromones pouring off of his slight frame and into the open house. On instinct, Zayn shifts how he’s standing so that he can angle Sami away out of overprotective caution. He can’t easily read the emotions in the air but it’s clear that the stranger isn’t a salesman like Zayn had originally thought.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” Zayn repeats, his words still polite but with a sharper edge to them.

“Is, erm, Harry Styles home?”

The lad’s voice is warm and gentle and Zayn relaxes a little when he hears him speak. It’s clear that the boy is young, probably no more than twenty, and any negativity in his aura is clearly due only to his own nerves. There’s something troubling him, though, and Zayn feels curious.

“I’m sorry, dear, but he isn’t here right now,” Zayn says. “I can give him a message and let him know you stopped by, though.”

The lad looks up, green eyes wide. “He isn’t here?”

Zayn shakes his head. “He’s working. Is he expecting you?”

“No, he isn’t.”

For some reason Zayn can’t figure out, disappointment flashes across the young man’s face after those words. Disappointment, yes, but also some relief, possibly. His sharp jawline softens when his mouth parts around a sigh and he brings a hand up to run through his hair in what must be a nervous tic as his blonde curls are pulled back and his fingers just end up tugging out a few loose strands. He tucks those behind his ear and his lips close in a pout as he stands a little straighter.

The unease in the air all suddenly makes perfect sense to Zayn. He takes in the boy’s overall appearance, recognises the intimately familiar tic Zayn’s just seen. Before the boy says another word, Zayn already knows what he’s going to hear.

“He- I think he’s my father.”

Zayn is silent for a long time, at least a minute of just staring at the boy- _Harry’s boy_ \- and trying to remember to breathe. Bongo’s whines and the scratch of his nails against the travertine floors are the only sounds in the air. The lad doesn’t move or say anything else, just stares back at Zayn with big doe eyes ad if willing Zayn to believe him.

As if there could be any true doubt.

Finally, after the longest of pauses, Zayn steps back into the house and holds the door open wider. “Okay,” he says. “Please, come inside.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” the lad says, hesitating. Zayn can see the mix of emotions that are now flooding across his features. He can sense the boy’s mood brightening. “I’ve just been working myself up to come here and say that and, I know you’re not Harry because I have this picture of him,” he says, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out an old Polaroid with Zayn’s husband and a woman he doesn’t know, “and I just _had_ to finally say it because it’s been building up in me for years and I had to let someone know. I had to let someone who knows him know.”

His words are fast and accent light, nothing like Harry in his speech, but his mannerisms are nearly identical and it’s like looking into a funhouse mirror as Zayn glances from the Polaroid he’s now holding to the young man who is not yet stepping over his house’s threshold as he had been invited to do.

Zayn feels every parental instinct he has telling him strongly to take the boy into a hug but he hold back, for now. Instead, he smiles again. He can tell how strained and awkward it is, though, so he forces it calmer as he tilts his head in another invitation. “You’re not disturbing anyone,” he assures. “Come in and we’ll grab a drink and talk. Please.”

Finally, the boy does. He steps past Zayn and stops just a few steps in. He looks around. There’s an impressed look to his face as he takes in the mostly open foyer with its high ceilings and impressive staircase. “This place is… really nice,” he says, looking back at Zayn when the door clicks shut and Zayn steps up next to him. Bongo is sniffing first the left ankle of the lad’s trousers and then the right, moving back and forth as if comparing the two. He looks up and noses at the boy’s hand, begging silently for attention. The lad twitches his fingers in reflex.

“Thank you. Harry built our home.” Zayn feels awkward saying _your father_ , even though there really isn’t any other plausible explanation.

“He did? Like- with his hands?”

Zayn snorts, startled out of his daze. “Sorry, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Not with his hands. He designed it, though. Wanted it to be perfect for his fa-“ he swallows.

“His family,” the boy says with a gentle smile when Zayn trails off.

“Yeah.”

“Who is this little guy?” the lad asks, waving his fingers at Sami. Zayn startles, not having realised his son has shifted and is peering curiously at the newcomer.

“Sorry, I never even asked your name, love.”

“I’m Gabe.”

“Gabe, I’m Zayn. This is little Sami.”

“Hi, Sami,” Gabe says with a smile. He leans in and offers his fingers to Sami, who grabs at them with a grin and giggles.

Dani, having no doubt heard the commotion, comes padding into the room, one hand in his diaper and the other held out for his own balance. “Baba,” he says with a smile.

“This is Sami’s twin, Danyal,” Zayn says, leaning down to set Sami on the ground and pick up his brother. He gives his diaper a pat and a sniff, frowning. “I’ve got to handle a nappy,” Zayn says with an apologetic frown.

“I’ll come with,” Gabe says, looking down where Sami is tugging at his trousers. Sami grins when they make eye contact, holding his hand up. Gabe holds out his own and shuffles forward when Sami starts tugging him towards the living room.

“Lead the way,” Zayn says, stepping behind them. “We’ve got changing bags all over the place.”

Gabe smiles at him and lets Sami pull him where he wants to go, a slight stoop in his shoulders to help the toddler keep ahold of his fingers. It’s so much like Harry that Zayn catches a breath in his throat, not quite sure how to fully wrap his mind around what’s happening in front of him. Danyal is oblivious to it all, babbling and talking in his own way as Zayn tries to coax his hand from his nappy. Dani resists. “You’re a weird little duck,” Zayn mumbles to him, pressing a kiss to his temple before laying him on the floor near his playpen and dragging the diaper bag closer.

“I bet this isn’t what you had in mind when you came by,” Zayn says louder so Gabe can hear.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” Gabe admits. “I’ve been putting it off for so long and I finally talked myself into doing it today. It’s a birthday gift of sorts to myself.”

“Is today your birthday, then?” Zayn asks. Gabe nods. “Happy birthday, dear. How old are you?”

“Twenty one.”

Zayn _does_ gasp, then, though it’s quiet. He’s never been the strongest at maths, he’ll admit, but he can easily figure out that his husband was only seventeen when Gabe was born- would have been sixteen when he was conceived. “Happy birthday,” he says though his throat feels almost too tight to speak.

Gabe must easily sense Zayn’s distress because his entire expression sours, mood shifting as he looks back down at his feet. Sami has been bringing toy after toy over to Gabe, trying to share, but he picks up on the mood change quickly and sits down on his bottom, looking between Gabe and his baba with confusion obvious on his face.

“Oh, no,” Zayn says, quickly finishing with Dani’s nappy and grabbing an extra wipe for his hands. “Ignore me, none of this,” he says, motioning to himself in an attempt to clarify that he’s speaking of his own aura, “is in reaction to you, Gabe.”

“Of course it is. I’ve just shown up here out of the blue with the worst kind of news for you. I didn’t mean to interrupt your day or push myself onto your family like this.”

Like he’s dealing with a wild animal- or calming one of the horses Jawhar is always trying to train- Zayn stands and approaches Gabe with his hands up, palms out. “This has been a shock, of course,” he says. “But I want you to know that you are welcome here in this home. This is not a situation that I’m familiar with, or one that I ever truly considered, so I’m not going to always do or say the right things. But… you look just like Harry, just like your father. You’re… not someone I saw coming but you’re my family now, if you want to be.”

Gabe still looks scared but less tense, and Zayn opens his arms for a hug. Gabe hesitates for only a second before he takes a few steps forward and crashes into Zayn, hugging him back. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Zayn asks, stroking his hand through Gabe’s hair just like he does for Maya when she’s upset, though Gabe is quite a bit taller in Zayn’s arms.

“For believing me. I can barely believe it, myself.”

“You look just like him,” Zayn says, pulling back and getting his hands either side of Gabe’s face. “So much like him.”

“I’ve only got a couple pictures of him. I can never tell if it’s just in my head that I look like him. But thank you for bringing me into your home and introducing me to your sons. My parents didn’t have any children after me. Once I found out that my dad wasn’t my bio dad, I thought, sometimes, that I would have siblings but I didn’t really picture… this.”

Zayn bites his lip around a smile. “You have two more brothers and a sister, too,” he says. Gabe’s eyes get wider. “And a third little brother in heaven.”

“Can I meet them?”

Zayn tucks a short lock of hair behind Gabe’s ear before stepping back. “They’re at my parents’ house for the weekend but I would love for you to meet them. For now, though, it’s naptime for the little ones. Will you help me put them down and then you and I will talk a little more?”

Gabe nods and smiles.

 

 

Putting the twins down for a nap is always an entertaining struggle. Danyal still hasn’t reacted much to Gabe’s presence, not like Sami who seems obsessed with his new big brother, but he gets fussy when Zayn sets him into his crib. Sami goes quietly at first, having held Gabe’s hand again to lead him to the nursery, but picks up on his twin’s attitude and tries to run out of the room. Zayn grabs him around the middle, ignoring his squirming, and sets him into his own crib.

They begin crying softly in unison, two little attention seekers, and Zayn has to grab Gabe’s arm gently to tug him away.

“They’re not very happy,” Gabe says with a pout, looking over his shoulder as he’s led from the room.

“They’re spoiled and they know to take advantage of your empathy,” Zayn retorts, trying to pretend like he isn’t feeling the same pangs at the sounds of his youngest babies and their fussing.

Zayn leads Gabe through the house, the sounds of crying already quiet by the time they’re at the end of the hallway. “See?” Zayn says with a grin, heading down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? We’ve got everything.”

“I’m okay,” Gabe declines.

“Water?”

Gabe shakes his head.

“Lemonade?”

Gabe shakes his head.

“Beer?”

“Oh, god, yes.”

Zayn smiles and grabs them both a beer, using the bottle opener to crack the tops off and handing one over. They sit on stools around the kitchen island, the silence growing awkward around them as they throw back their drinks.

“Tell me about my father?” Gabe asks after a minute.

“What do you want to know?”

“What does he do for work?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “It’s completely boring. He’s a lawyer for a large corporation headquartered in London. They represent other large companies and do… something, I’m not entirely sure. It’s really boring,” Zayn repeats. “He loves it, though. Loves the research and being the one to find a loophole that allows their clients to do whatever it is they want to do.”

Gabe’s eyes are wide and bright, excitement pouring off of him in waves. “I’m studying law! I’m about to start school again.”

“Harry will be so happy to hear that,” Zayn says.

“You haven’t, like, said anything to him, yeah?” Gabe asks. “Not sent any quick texts or anything?”

“No, love, I haven’t contacted him. I won’t do that; this is your story to tell.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Zayn’s quiet, looking down at his bottle and picking at the label with his thumb.

“I know this whole, ‘showing up on your doorstep’ thing isn’t normal but, in everything I’ve looked at and in all the times I’ve thought this up in my head, I’m the outsider and the real family doesn’t welcome me warmly.”

Zayn looks up at that. “You’re _not_ an outsider,” he says fiercely. “And you _are_ ‘real family’. I’m not sure what your father knows about you- if he knows anything at all- but I’m one hundred percent confident that he will be nothing short of _thrilled_ to meet you. You are welcome in this house, I promise you.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you- where are you from?”

“My mum lives in Enfield but my dad is from Surrey. I chose to stay with him when I was old enough.”

“Your parents divorced?” Zayn asks, trying to not focus on the woman who had his husband’s child. _His husband’s first child_ , he thinks in a terribly selfish fashion.

“Never married. They were together for a bit but split up after mum got pregnant. I didn’t know why when I was younger but dad told me when I turned sixteen that he was sterile and that he’d always known I wasn’t his child, biologically, but that he had always considered himself to be my father. He couldn’t forgive mum for cheating but he couldn’t leave me, either.”

“Oh, love. That must have been hard for you to hear.”

Gabe nods, taking a long sip of his beer. “I could tell how much my dad hated that he had to tell me that. He was the very best father to me, always. He passed away two years ago,” he says, pausing and frowning down at the counter top. “I thought that, at first, me coming to look for Harry was an insult to him but I don’t think that anymore. I don’t… well, I don’t _think_ that I think that.”

Zayn purses his lips, restraining himself from letting his eyes water. He feels Gabe’s aura drifting off of him in slow, sad waves and he knows he needs to return one filled with soothing sensations but his empathy is too strong.

“I didn’t know your dad,” he says carefully, “But he told you for a reason and I can’t see that he would feel this to be any kind of betrayal to him. You’re not looking to replace your dad, yeah?” Zayn asks, pausing for Gabe to nod. “You’re just looking to find out more about yourself. I think that’s commendable.”

Gabe is quiet, his head bowed, but when he looks up again he looks calm.

“Where are you staying?” Zayn asks.

“I have a motel room in Manchester.”

“Would you like to stay here?”

Gabe hesitates.

“I understand that it can be… overwhelming,” Zayn continues, trying to rein in some of his enthusiasm. “I just want you to know that I would love for you to come stay here. I don’t remember if I said this earlier, but Harry is coming home tomorrow. He’ll want to meet you whenever you’re ready.”

“Is he… I mean, I know you’re going to say he’s wonderful because you’ve, you know, married him and had kids with him and everything. But, how is he? Is he nice?”

Zayn can feel how big his smile gets, how his nose crinkles at the top and his eyes get small. He’s always had a specific ‘Harry smile’ according to his father and, twenty years later, it’s still around. He ducks his head to hide it from Gabe’s gaze. “Harry is…”

Gabe groans but he’s smiling when Zayn looks back up. “Forget I asked, I can see how well you think of him.”

Zayn laughs.

“Tell me the weirdest thing about him, then.”

Zayn doesn’t stop smiling but he does take the question seriously. He thinks for a minute, finishing off his bottle before setting it back down on the counter. “He’s afraid of butterflies,” he says simply.

“That’s stupid,” Gabe says.

“It isn’t like an irrationally strong fear- he won’t run away screaming or anything- but he’s genuinely nervous when butterflies are around. Maya- she’s eleven now- wanted to be a butterfly princess for Halloween one year and I thought Harry was going to lose it.”

“I- did not think I would find my father and learn he was afraid of butterflies,” Gabe laughs.

“I don’t have much to complain about,” Zayn admits. “He’s got his quirks, of course, but he’s the very best father to our children. He’s my partner and has been for, god, seventeen years now. But I want _you_ to meet him and see his personality for yourself.”

Gabe nods and finishes his drink. “I should go.”

Zayn tells himself that he isn’t disappointed that Gabe doesn’t want to stay. He’s barely more than a child forced into an unimaginably difficult situation- Zayn can’t say how he would act if he were in the lad’s shoes.

“Will you be coming back? I’m not going to do well with _not_ telling Harry,” Zayn hedges. “This is… big news.”

Gabe grins and it’s nervous, still, but genuine. “Yeah, absolutely. I can come back tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

“Harry usually catches the earliest flight back. We can do a late lunch.”

“I don’t eat meat.”

“Vegetarian, it is.”

Zayn walks him to the door, stopping him with a light touch to his elbow. “Can I give you another hug?”

When Gabe nods and holds open his arms, Zayn launches himself closer to the lad. He wraps his arms tight around the boy’s back, ignoring how tall he is and focusing on giving him the very best hug he’s ever been given. Gabe gives as good as he gets, his hugs not unlike the way Harry folds Zayn up into his arms.

“I’m glad I knocked on your door today,” Gabe says.

“So much,” Zayn agrees. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gabe says, though he holds on for a minute longer before finally pulling away.

The sounds of babies waking up cuts through the house and they both turn their heads to look up the stairs. Zayn has the urge to ask Gabe to stay but he thinks he can tell the lad needs time to compress and work up the nerve to come back tomorrow, so he keeps quiet.

“Tell them ‘bye’ for me,” Gabe says before stepping out the screen door and letting it close behind him.

Zayn stands in the doorway for a moment, watching Gabe walk down the drive and get into his car. Zayn steps back and lets the main door close before Gabe starts his car, wants to give the boy some privacy if he needs to begin unwinding right away. He turns and heads up the stairs to the first floor nursery, finding Sami standing at the edge of his crib as Danyal tries to scale his own.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Zayn says, rushing forward and picking him up, upside down since he had been attempting to hook his foot over the railing. “What in the world?”

Sami whines, feeling left out, and Zayn is suddenly whipped up into the whirlwind that is entertaining and taking care of the toddler twins on his own and he forces his thoughts away from Gabe and Harry as much as possible.

 

 

Immediately, Zayn knows that Harry can tell that something is wrong.

Zayn tries his best to stay calm and relaxed when his husband comes home the next morning, spreading his arms wide and wrapping Zayn up in a tight hug. Zayn’s tense, has been since he woke up this morning with the terrible thought in his head: _What if Harry_ did _know?_

“Y’alright?” Harry asks when they pull away from their hello embrace, smoothing his hands along Zayn’s shoulders.

Zayn nods and forces on his best poker face. It’s still a bit shit but he knows Harry trusts him to talk about things- neither of them will risk everything by keeping too many feelings to themselves- and Harry lets it go.

“Tell me when you can,” Harry says, leaning down for another kiss.

Bongo and the twins are in a frenzy, the dog trying to trying to climb up Harry’s legs and the little humans tugging at the slack in his joggers, all vying for his attention. Harry gets on his knee and passes around hugs and kisses to them all. Zayn stands above him, his fingers gentle on Harry’s shoulder as he watches how his husband lights up when he’s with his family. Harry around babies has always been like watching the sun shine- too bright, too warm- and Zayn chides himself silently for even entertaining the thought that his husband knew about Gabe and did nothing.

“What have you been up to?” Harry asks the boys, smiling and nodding as they babble their way through stories that (mainly) only make sense to themselves. They spend the rest of the morning playing with and cuddling their babies, wearing the tykes out until they collapse in a snuggly pile.

Around noon, Zayn disentangles himself from the naptime puppy pile on the downstairs sofa.

“Come back,” Harry pouts, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

Zayn feels a punch in his gut as he thinks about the secret he knows and as he wonders again how much of it Harry knows, as well. As before, he can’t see his husband being the type to leave a baby behind, no matter the situation or family around it, but he was just seventeen when Gabe was born.

Who knows what a seventeen year old Harry Styles was like.

“We’ve got a guest visitor for lunch so I better get it going,” Zayn says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead. He nuzzles into Harry’s hairline for a second, basking in his husband’s pheromones before standing up straight and walking away. Harry’s already falling back asleep, Dani snuggled on his chest and Sami curled up around Harry’s knees.

Zayn had decided against anything fancy, knowing nerves would be high and lunch might actually go untouched. He’s got his mum’s mango pasta salad chilling in the fridge and he starts making some sweet potato fries to go with it. He’s nervous and distracted by the time one o’clock rolls around and he tries to focus on making something for the twins to eat but ends up spilling his pre-portioned containers and has to start from scratch. The mess gives him something to take his nerves out on and he’s calmer by the time a knock sounds at the door near one thirty.

Bongo rushes to the door again, barking and howling for the thirty seconds it takes Zayn to sprint across the house.

“Get back, killer,” he says, tugging open the door and smiling at Gabe. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Gabe says, a mirror image of the nervous lad he’d been the day before, his aura nearly frenzied with anxiety. Zayn reaches out a hand and tugs him inside, shutting the door and wrapping his arms around Gabe’s shoulders in a tight hug.

“I missed you, isn’t that ridiculous?” Zayn says, pulling away and grabbing Gabe’s hand. “Come on, let’s just do this and not even think about it.”

Harry’s awake when Zayn leads Gabe into the living room, attempting to change both twins’ nappies at once and failing spectacularly. Zayn laughs, some of Gabe’s tension bleeding away, as well, at the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

“Who was at the door?” Harry asks, slightly breathless as he wrangles Sami into his diaper first. Sami is the calmer twin, by far, but he’s still a toddler. He wriggles and fights it for a few long seconds before sighing and deciding to just let it happen. Harry sets him on his feet and gets a hand on Dani’s belly to keep him from running away, and it’s then that he looks up. “Oh, hello.”

Zayn watches Harry’s expression closely as Gabe’s voice cracks around an answering greeting. His husband is curious, at first, as to who the new lad is and why he’s in their home. Harry looks between Gabe and Zayn, confusion growing as he begins to realise something is different about this moment. Zayn feels Harry’s mood shift, concern bleeding through their soul bond.

“Let me finish with Dani,” Zayn says quietly, not trying to disrupt the quiet mood in the room.

Harry grabs a wipe distractedly and cleans off his hands, standing and trading places with Zayn. Dani’s picked up on the somber setting, and he doesn’t fight Zayn as he quickly changes him out of his wet nappy and into a dry one. Harry’s standing closer to Gabe, looking at the lad’s face as if searching for something.

“Do I- have we met?” Harry asks, holding a hand out. “I’m Harry Malik.”

“Gabriel Villegas.”

Zayn stands, wiping his hands and then Dani’s when his baby holds up his palms. “Up,” Dani says, starting to whine when Zayn takes all of three seconds to acquiesce to the demand. He misses what Gabe says next but he hears when Harry says, “Your mother-“ before trailing off. “I haven’t seen her in over two decades.”

Gabe nods, tugging at his hair- worn loose today- in an identical way to how Harry is always messing with his curls.

Zayn can feel the second that realisation hits for Harry. Dani and Sami both start fretting when their father’s emotions get cold, Dani burying his head in Zayn’s shoulders and Sami dropping down onto his bottom and whimpering. Zayn tries rocking the twin in his arms, wanting to keep the real cries at bay. It’s only a sudden surge of happiness that Harry feels that actually helps with the twins, the little ones too confused at the shifts in the room’s emotions to cry.

Without asking or hesitating or showing any of Zayn’s caution from the previous day, Harry opens his arms and pulls Gabe to his chest, closing his arms around him in a tight, all-encompassing hug. Zayn pretends like he isn’t sniffling, pressing his nose to Dani’s short brown curls.

“I didn’t know,” Harry says, still holding Gabe. “I can’t believe I didn’t know.”

“They didn’t want it to mean anything different for me,” Gabe says into Harry’s shoulder, his blonde hair falling in front of his face. “Or for you, I think. Dad said mum had told him you were young.”

“I just…” Harry trails off, looking over at Zayn. “How did you know?”

“Gabe came by yesterday looking for you,” Zayn says, walking closer to them. “I didn’t know how to not tell you but it had to come from Gabe.”

Harry steps back but doesn’t let go completely, hands on Gabe’s shoulders. “This is remarkable.”

“This is what you’d look like as a blonde,” Zayn says, smiling when it lightens the mood and they both laugh.

The two men in front of him- his mate and his mate’s son- have identical grins and dimples, though Gabe still has a lot of his mother’s other features. It’s incredible how much they look and act alike when Zayn considers that the habits have all grown naturally and not through imitation.

“Anyone hungry?” Zayn asks, tilting his head towards the kitchen. “Got something light we can eat. Unless you two want to have some time alone.”

“Don’t be silly,” Harry says, reaching a hand out to cup Zayn’s elbow.

Zayn smiles and shakes his head. “I didn’t even think about it. I got some time to get to know Gabe yesterday, alone. Why don’t you boys take your plates out on the deck and I’ll feed the twins in here.”

“I’m not asking for that,” Harry protests again.

“It’s decided,” Zayn says simply, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Harry’s mouth. “I’m going to stay in here for just a little bit. When the boys are done, we’ll come out with you.” Harry looks like he’s going to say something again so Zayn says quietly, under no impression that Gabe can’t hear but wanting to be subtle about it anyway, “Get to know your _son_ , H. We’ll be along quickly enough.”

Zayn waits until they both nod before leading the way through to the kitchen, Sami latching onto Gabe again and trotting along at his side with one hand gripping the tips of Gabe’s fingers. Zayn one-handedly pulls the fries out of the oven where they had been keeping warm, setting them on the counter while Harry grabs plates down. They work together quickly between the two of them, Zayn grabbing three beers out from the fridge and the food for the twins while Harry picks up the glass bowl with the pasta salad.

“It’s my mum’s recipe,” Zayn says, “so you’ll love it. And you’ll pretend you love it even if you don’t.”

“Aye aye,” Gabe says, laughing easily. He’s infinitely more relaxed than Zayn has yet seen him. It warms something inside of him to realise.

“Harry, will you make up your plates?”

“Already on it, love. Thank you for making us lunch.”

“Thanks, Zayn,” Gabe says. “It smells great.”

They make quick work of getting their food before disappearing through the sliding glass door and settling around the outside table. Zayn keeps an eye on them as he frets around the kitchen, getting two bowls ready for the twins who have just come stumbling out from the living room, matching pouty looks though their features are completely different.

“Hungry?” Zayn asks them with a smile, both boys lifting their arms for him to lift them up. Zayn shakes his head and steps back. “You’re both big boys,” he says. “Let’s go get in our chairs.”

Like ducklings, they follow him to the kitchen table and let him pick them up to get them in their high chairs. He sets a bowl down for each of them just as the sliding door opens with a _woosh_. Zayn turns his head, surprised to see Harry coming back in.

“What’s wrong?” Zayn asks, mistaking the rush of emotions he feels from his mate for negative. It’s only when Harry crowds into his space, putting his hands behind Zayn’s back and pulling him into a bruising kiss, that he realises Harry is feeling nothing but absolute joy.

“We’ll talk about this all the way through, later,” Harry says when he pulls back, thumbing at Zayn’s cheekbone, “but I love you so, so, so much.”

“Same, always,” Zayn teases with a grin. “What-?”

“Gabe told me how you brought him in yesterday and made him feel welcome. I’m so thankful for a beautiful soul like yours.”

“You are _sappy_ , Harry Malik, and I won’t let you forget this.”

Harry grins, boyish and young like he looked nearly two decades before when they first met. “I’m not looking to forget any of this,” he promises. “I’m gonna go back out there.”

“We’ll be along soon,” Zayn promises, watching him as he rushes out of the house and back to the patio table with Gabe.

A _crash_ sounds from behind Zayn and he turns to see Danyal’s tray table on the floor, a guilty look on his face as he freezes in mid-air from where he’s clearly been trying to steal some of his brother’s bowl of fruit.

“Bad, Dani,” Zayn chides, leaning down to turn his own bowl back right side up. Dani pouts but sits back on his bum. Sami whimpers. Zayn can’t stop grinning, though, and he puts everything to rights. He realises he’s humming a happy tune, a ditty he’s heard on the radio recently, and keeps one eye on the boys in the back garden as he buys them some time to be together.

His entire world has shifted in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s kind of nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mum is not Caroline Flack. (She's a little bit Caroline Flack).


	19. darkest before the dawn (shake it off)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jenny requested this a million years ago, approximately, and I'm finally, finally finished. This chapter deals with sixteen year old Zahir and his worry over how he'll present in the a/b/o sense. 
> 
> I really, really have been working on a timeline graphic of sorts to post in each chapter because it jumps around a lot but I just can't get it right so I'm putting it on hold for now. Title of this chapter from Florence + The Machine.

Growing up as the oldest, there were certain things that Zahir was responsible for. Once a day, at least, he would be reminded to help his little sister or brother with their chores or asked to lend a hand with the little twins. He helped his baba work on their cars and helped his dad with his never-ending ‘honey do’ lists. Zahir didn’t mind, per say, because his family always showed him their gratitude. It didn’t matter to him that he did more work than the other pups because he enjoyed helping everyone in any way he could.

It helped that he learned from an early age to take advantage of any quiet corner and any time he had to himself. He kept books stashed around the house for quick escapes, his mp3 player was always in his pocket and, as he got older, he started keeping a journal to have somewhere he could jot down his own thoughts in case he didn’t have a chance to tell them to anyone else.

“You’re just like your baba, you know that?” his dad tells him one day.

Zahir looks up from his notebook. He hasn’t written anything in a few minutes, trying to find inspiration in scribbles he’s making in the margins, but he covers the page self-consciously with one hand anyway.

“How do you mean?” he asks, smiling. He shifts over on the sofa to let his dad plop down.

“Always with your nose in a book.”

“S’not a book,” Zahir says, ducking his head.

His dad puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in for a cuddle. “It will be, one day, if you want.”

At the end of the day, that’s just how his parents are and have always been. His baba and dad- especially his dad- have always supported everything Zahir’s ever attempted. Even in this instance, his dad is supporting a non-existent novel he may write one day when all he’s ever attempted are half-formed short stories with original characters who may or may not actually be him in superhero form. It’s supportive to the point of being overwhelming, if he’s honest.

He closes the notebook, setting it to the side and curling closer to his dad. He’s sixteen but he’ll never be too old for a good cuddle.

They’re quiet for a bit, enjoying their stolen moments of silence. The chances for this kind of calmness are slim in a house with twin five year old boys. Zahir finds himself antsy, though, and unable to fully relax.

“Dad,” he starts, tucking his head down and against his father’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at his face. “Why haven’t I presented yet?”

There are no outward reaction signals from his father, but Zahir holds his breath anyway.

“You’re only sixteen, Zed,” his father says finally.

“Maya presented _last year_.”

“Your sister has always been extremely impatient.”

Zahir can’t resist pouting, feeling irritation swell in him. “She was always going to be an alpha, though. And Bug is going to be an omega. Even the twins will probably fit one of the roles perfectly- I’m going to end up nothing.”

His dad tilts his head up, forcing Zahir to meet his gaze. “Being a beta would not be nothing, Zed. You know better than to say that.”

“I know,” he admits reluctantly.

“You don’t think your Auntie Gemma or Auntie Waliyha are ‘nothing’ because they’re betas. Your Grandpa Des is a beta and you don’t respect him any less than you do Grandpa Robin.”

“I know,” Zahir repeats.

“So, what’s going on with this kind of talk?”

The confusion on his father’s face makes Zahir feel shame but also desperation- desperation to speak and to be heard.

“I’m just tired of being in-between everything. I want to be one or the other.”

“What do you mean?”

Zahir sighs and moves his head to dislodge his father’s hand. “Betas are always tasked with being the _yin_ to the _yang_ of alphas and omegas. I’m always the _yin_ in this family. You and baba are always asking me to help with the others, especially the twins, and I don’t mind doing it but…”

“But you feel like you need to be a parent to your little brothers,” his dad finishes, expression thoughtful. “Instead of just being their big brother.” He sighs. “Babe, have I ever told you about the time your baba and I hid your Halloween candy?”

Zahir shakes his head, letting out his breath in an exhale. His father isn’t mad at him for being upset, and that knowledge is a relief. On the other hand, his father has a tendency to ramble a bit when telling a story so Zahir settles in for a long one.

“When you were four years old- right before Bug was born, actually- I took you and your sister trick-or-treating. Baba couldn’t come with us- he was tired a lot at the end of the pregnancy- but we all went. You had just read _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ with baba so you were determined to go as Puck. We tried probably a dozen Peter Pan and faerie costumes but you didn’t like them- they weren’t Puck- so your baba and I made yours special for you. Maya was obsessed with _Star Wars_ and went as Boba Fett. Do you remember this?”

Zahir shakes his head but his father is already continuing.

“Well, she let us pick hers out from a store at least, even though I tried to convince her to be Han Solo instead. Missed opportunity.”

Zahir bites back a sigh, letting his father continue without interruption.

“So, baba was tired and super pregnant and kind of crabby sometimes. Don’t tell him I said that. We lived in our old row house then so we went door to door down the street. You two were so cute, both of you in need of a serious haircut so you spent half the time with your pillowcases in one hand so you could push your hair back from your face. I’m pretty sure the neighbors thought we were crazed. It isn’t like how it is now, where we have to drive into town to take the twins. There were so many neighbors all the time. Neighbors with their comments and compliments and advice. Did I tell you about-“

“Dad, you’re already telling me about Halloween,” Zahir reminds gently.

“Right, right. Okay. So. Erm.”

“We went trick-or-treating,” he prompts.

“Yes, we came home and you were both exhausted. I had to carry Boba Fett and both of your candy bags. Baba was up and waiting for us. He took your sister to bed but you stayed awake a little while longer, sorting through your candy methodically. You had everything organised by colour and then by which ones you liked the most.”

Zahir smiles. His method of eating candy hasn’t changed much. He always sorts them by colours and then eats them in reverse order- the ones he likes most, he saves for last.

“Baba said only one piece of candy for you since you hadn’t finished your dinner completely- too excited for Halloween- and you picked one out after the most careful consideration I’ve ever seen a four year old make. You went off to bed quickly after that and then baba and I settled in for our movie tradition.”

“What movie was it?”

“Erm, _Psycho_ I think. Anyway, that isn’t part of this story.”

Zahir cringes. He doesn’t need to know.

“Back to the story. Your baba had the idea of hiding your candy and telling you we ate it.”

“I think I sort of remember you telling me this before,” Zahir says softly. He doesn’t want to discourage his dad from telling him again, he likes his father’s stories, even if they’re long-winded.

“It’s our finest parenting moment, for sure,” his dad laughs. “So, we waited until after breakfast. Maya was putting a mix of your costumes on poor Rhino, who lapped up the attention, of course. She asked for her candy and baba got her bag but then he brought your empty bag to me.”

 

> Zahir is waiting patiently for his candy, watching Maya tear through her bag to find a specific piece she swears she saw the night before. Zayn is trying not to smile when he passes over the pillowcase but Harry can see the corners of his lips where they’re upturned.
> 
> “You gotta tell him, Haz,” Zayn says, looking between Zahir and Harry in an exaggerated fashion.
> 
> “I know,” Harry says, letting his head hang down. His hair is past his ears again, curling softly at his temples but not long enough to hide the pout he forces to his lips. “Hey, Zed, can I talk to you for a second?”
> 
> Zahir perks up and rushes forward, lifting his arms to be held. Harry obliges, bending and getting his hands under Zahir’s armpits. He puts his son on his hip, one arm going under his bum for security so he can hold up the empty case with his other.
> 
> “I’ve got to tell you something, bubba,” Harry confides.
> 
> “What, daddy?”
> 
> “Well… I got so hungry last night, after you went to bed, that I thought I’d have some of your Halloween candy. I didn’t think you’d mind,” and Zahir is already shaking his head and smiling.
> 
> “I love sharing,” Zahir says, one hand tugging gently at Harry’s curls.
> 
> “I know you do, you’re a good boy. But, I was so hungry,” Harry stresses again, “that I ended up eating all of your candy.”
> 
> Zahir pauses, his smile fading away. “All of it?” he asks, looking at the case.
> 
> Harry sets him down so he’s sitting on the counter, feet swinging and hitting the cabinets below as he takes the pillowcase Harry hands him and looks inside. It’s completely empty. When Zahir looks up again, there’s a shine to his eyes that hadn’t been there before and a pout to his small mouth.
> 
> “It’s all gone,” he says.
> 
> Harry knows Zayn is filming this all on his phone. Some part of him knows he’ll feel terrible about the prank when Zahir gets upset but a much larger part of him is excited for the jokes they’ll be able to tell from this moment for years to come.
> 
> But, like usual, his son surprises him.
> 
> “Did you eat your dinner?”
> 
> Harry blinks. “Last night?”
> 
> Zahir nods, crumpling up the pillowcase and setting it to the side. “Baba always says we have to eat our dinner before we have candy. You didn’t eat dinner with us.”
> 
> “I ate when you went to bed,” Harry says, trying not to laugh. “And I was still so hungry after.”
> 
> “Oh,” Zahir says, looking down at the bag again. When he looks up, there’s a small smile on his lips. “It’s okay then, daddy. If you had to eat my candy. You must’ve been so hungry.”
> 
> “I- what? You’re not mad?”
> 
> Zahir shakes his head and holds up his arms to be held again. “I’m not mad at you, daddy.”
> 
> Harry picks him up and holds him to his chest. “There isn’t any candy left for you,” he says, turning and casting a helpless look at Zayn, who has stopped trying to hide his smirk and also doesn’t seem to be interested in rescuing him. “We can ask Maya if she’ll share with you.”
> 
> “Daddy, don’t worry about it,” Zahir says, tucking his head under Harry’s chin. His arms are stretched high to wrap around Harry’s neck.
> 
> Harry bites down on his bottom lip and hugs Zahir tight. “Oh, bubba, you’re such a good boy,” he says, pressing a kiss to Zahir’s dark brown hair. “Daddy was just playing a trick, though. All of your candy is still here.”
> 
> Zahir pushes against his chest so he can lean back and look up at Harry. “How do you mean?”
> 
> “Daddy hid all of your candy last night but it’s all still there. Let’s go see it.”
> 
> “You didn’t eat it?”
> 
> “No, Zed, I didn’t eat any of it. It’s all yours.”
> 
> Zahir’s big green eyes are even wider now than they had been earlier. “Daddy, that was mean,” he says.
> 
> “I know. I’m sorry.”
> 
> Zahir’s quiet for a long moment, watching Harry. He finally nods and wiggles in Harry’s hold to get down. Harry feels guilt flood his heart for the quickest moment but then Zahir reaches up and takes his hand.
> 
> “Can we go see my candy then? Did you hide it someplace good?”
> 
> Harry sighs in relief and ignores Zayn, who is openly laughing now with one hand on his phone and the other on his perfectly round baby bump. “I think it’s rather well hidden,” he confides to Zahir before he leads him into the pantry to show him where it’s been stored away- still all sorted- in the topmost bin.

 

“You were such a sweet boy about it,” his father says, winding the story down. Zahir can feel how slowly he’s blinking, his father’s story relaxing him to the point of near-sleep without slipping fully under. “We pulled the same trick on Maya and then on Jawhar and they were much more dramatic about it.”

“That’s what you wanted in the first place,” Zahir laughs. “A dramatic tantrum.”

“Nah,” his dad disagrees. “Just a little one. But you were something else, lad. And, do you know what you did later that day?” Zahir shakes his head. “I was laying in my big chair trying to catch a nap when you climbed up onto my lap. You snuggled in- kind of like we are now but you were tiny sized- and you handed me a piece of your chocolate.”

Zahir smiles.

“The point of this whole story, I guess, was just to show you how good and kind you are. You’re the most generous boy and you’ve always been. We ask you to help with your siblings a lot, your baba and I realise that, but you do so much for them on your own, too. You’ve always been the leader to them; even Maya listens to you better than she listens to me. You’re practical, you’re smart, you’re a bit stubborn and you’re insanely protective of your pack. I’m not placing any money on it but I think you show many, many alpha characteristics. I won’t be surprised no matter how you present, but I think I know which way it will go.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m alpha,” Zahir protests, feeling a spark of something in his chest. He isn’t sure if it’s agreement or dissent, but something in him reacts to the words.

“No,” his dad agrees. “No one knows how they’ll present until it happens. And it’s possible that you won’t always agree with how you’ve presented. I do know, however, what it’s like to be a young, nice, slightly nerdy, lad who presents as alpha. I thought alphas were all big, burly jocks with low IQs and anger issues. But your Grandma Anne and your baba, actually, helped me realise that I didn’t need to think of presentations as stereotypes. However you present, that’s who you’ll be. If you present omega, beta or alpha, you’re still going to be the exact same boy you are now. ‘Biology guides, but does not define, who we will be’. Your grandma told me that.”

Zahir doesn’t say anything for a minute, trying to take it all in. Finally, he sits up and stretches. “Thanks, daddy,” he says in a small voice.

His dad sits up as well, both of them sharing an identical wince when they hear his back pop.

Zahir leans in for a hug and makes it a good one. “I don’t feel so worried about it now,” he admits. “Still a little, though.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“I’m going to see if baba needs help with tea,” Zahir says, picking up his notebook and standing.

“I’m going to take a fifteen minute nap before anyone finds me.”

“Good luck with that.”

Zahir finds his baba in the pantry, reaching for something on the highest shelf.

“I can get that, baba,” Zahir offers.

“You’re not that much taller than me,” his baba says but his smile is warm when he turns around. “I need the cheesecloth. Your daddy always tosses it up there.”

“Okay. What are you making? I can help,” Zahir offers as he reaches up and gets a hand around the Ziploc bag.

“Your littlest brothers are sick and daddy sounds a little stuffy, too, so I’m making chicken soup. You want it with rice or noodles?”

Zahir hums in thought. “Noodles,” he decides.

“There’s some leftover dough in the fridge if you want to roll it out.” His baba hesitates for a minute before looking up towards the ceiling. “You should grab down the flour, too,” he says before turning and walking out of the pantry.

Grinning, Zahir reaches up and grabs the bag of flour easily.

“You’re going to be taller than your dad, I think,” his baba says as he comes out of the walk-in pantry. Zahir grins, pleased.

“I’m already pretty close,” he says, puffing up his chest.

“You can stop growing at any point,” his baba says as if he’s reminding Zahir of a known fact. “I won’t complain.”

“Then who will get the things from the top shelf for you?”

“Your daddy’s still around for that.”

Zahir laughs and shakes his head. He opens the fridge and pulls out the wrapped ball of fresh dough. He and his dad had made some the day before but had, as usual, overestimated how much they would need for pasta. Using it for chicken soup sounds great and it’s better than letting it go to waste.

His baba watches over him as he flours the cutting board and rolls out the dough. Zahir loves cooking with his baba, prefers it over cooking with his dad. They’re both helpful but his baba is usually more relaxed and doesn’t try to intervene as much. Zahir handles the dough carefully, using a pizza cuter and ignoring the expensive pasta maker his dad had bought the previous Christmas; it doesn’t work half the time and also takes too long to clean. He likes rolling it with a pin and cutting it by hand.

The kitchen is mostly silent as they work, shifting around each other in a practiced fashion until Maya comes in with Dani on her hip. “He’s not sleeping and it’s keeping Sami up,” she says when they look up at her.

Zahir catches himself watching her out of the corner of his eye as she paces around the breakfast area. He finds himself checking her hold, knowing the twins are a bit big for their age. Maya’s got her height from their dad, same as Zahir, but she’s still thin as a rail and Danyal is a solid weight. She doesn’t seem to mind, shifting him so he’s held to her chest and resting his head on her shoulder. Zahir can hear her singing softly to him, trying to get him to sleep off the sickness.

“You okay, jaan?”

Zahir looks over at his baba, trying to smile in the face of his worried expression. “I’m okay.” He gets a raised brow in response, clearly a sign of disbelief. “I was worried about how I’ll present, earlier, but dad told me a story-“

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his baba jokes.

“- and I actually don’t think I’m that worried about it anymore.”

“You don’t think you’ll like how you present?”

“No,” Zahir sighs, trying to get his words right. His baba lets him take his time, moving around him to finish wrapping herbs and spices in the cheesecloth before dropping it into the pot. “I just don’t understand how May’ presented at fourteen and I haven’t yet. And then I started worrying that I’d be beta.”

“Nothing wrong with being beta,” his baba says with a fierce insistence.

“I know,” Zahir says with a smile. “I just- I feel like being beta means I’m stuck in the middle and I don’t want that. Weren’t you a little nervous before you presented?”

His baba shrugs, putting a lid on the soup pot and leaning a hand on the counter. “I was pretty certain I was omega. I’m so much like your daada that I was expecting it when I presented.”

“I’m a lot like you,” Zahir says, but his baba shakes his head immediately.

“You’re more like your daddy than just your height and your eyes, jaan.”

“I have dad’s nose, too.”

“And his taste in jokes,” Maya pipes up from the breakfast nook.

“Yours aren’t any better,” Zahir shoots back.

“I like Zeer’s jokes best,” Dani murmurs, half-asleep.

“Good taste.”

“Alright, this is thrilling and all,” their baba says from behind Zahir’s back, “but we’re still making dinner. Maya, maybe you can take your bhai back to bed? We’ll wake him up when the soup is ready.”

She leaves without protest.

“Sorry, baba.”

“For what?” he asks with a smile.

“Picking a fight with May’.”

“ _Beta_ ,” he sighs, “you know your dad and I don’t expect perfection from you, right? You’re allowed to have tiffs with your little sister. Your aunties and I used to fight all the time. One time,” his baba laughs, “your Auntie Doniya once ripped a chunk of hair right out of me head because I wouldn’t stop teasing her about a boy in school.”

Zahir smiles. He isn’t surprised- his baba has told him many stories of the fights he and his sisters got into. “I just don’t like fighting at all.”

“I know, you’re a peace keeper at heart.”

“That means I’ll probably be beta.”

“It isn’t a death sentence, babe. It’s just a presentation. You’re still going to be my jaan, my little boy, no matter how big you get.”

“Baba…” Zahir says, pretending to shrug off his father’s affections but he’s too pleased. “I’m not a little kid.”

“I know, you’re sixteen and you think you’re too old to hear this but: you’re my first pup. You’ll always be my first little love,” his baba says, pulling him into a hug. He has to reach up a little to wrap his arms around Zahir’s back, but Zahir leans in and makes himself smaller in his baba’s arms.

Zahir knows it isn’t fair of him to think but a part of him has always been aware that he shares a special bond with his baba that the others don’t. Just like his dad and Jawhar, the baby they thought would be their last. The bonds aren’t much and they wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else but they’re there nonetheless. Zahir was their miracle baby, they’ve told him enough; he’s heard the stories of how difficult it was for them to conceive and how scary the labor was with him.

The stories have always taught him one major thing: he wasn’t easy for his baba to carry. For sixteen years, he’s tried to be good to make up for it.

“I don’t want to be beta,” he confides into the secrecy of their hug.

“I don’t think you will be,” his baba replies.

Zahir pulls back and discreetly wipes at his eyes. The few tears that cling to his lashes are more from stress and exhaustion than anything else- the worry of presenting has kept him awake more nights than not- and he can’t hide them from his baba.

“Why don’t I finish the noodles and you go take a nap.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll feel better after some sleep, jaan.”

His baba has that ‘final word’ tone he gets sometimes and Zahir knows it isn’t worth arguing. He just washes his hands and leaves the kitchen, dragging his feet a little because he loves naps but he hates being told to take them. Makes him feel six instead of sixteen.

In an act of slight defiance- the most he ever really shows- he doesn’t go straight to bed. He ambles past the doorway to the living room, eyeing his dad’s sleeping form, before heading up the stairs and taking a left. He passes Jawhar’s room before coming to the door of the twins’ nursery. They’ve outgrown it, a bit, but don’t sleep well apart from each other. Zahir’s considered giving them his bedroom to share- it’s the biggest in the house besides the one his parents are in- but his dad hasn’t let him just yet.

“Zeer!” he hears from one of the beds. Sami is still fast asleep in his but Dani is wide awake, big, hazel eyes looking over at Zahir where he stands in the doorway.

“Hey, buddy,” Zahir says, walking into the room. He sidesteps the toys on the floor, making a mental note to help the twins pick them up later, and sits on the edge of Danyal’s bed. His baby twin has sat up, fists pressing into the duvet on either side of his waist. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

His face is pink along his cheeks and brightest at his nose, and there’s a piled of discarded tissues on the nightstand. They’re most likely hardly used, as both of the twins only think they can blow their noses, but Zahir pushes them into the trash regardless.

“Not tired, Zeer,” he says, lifting up his arms.

“No, you already got a cuddle from Maya. You need to sleep.”

“You sleep, too.”

Zahir smiles at him and brushes his long, brown curls back from his face. “You’ll take a nap if I take one with you?” he asks to clarify.

Dani nods his head and smiles wide, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Okay, but let’s go in my room.”

Danyal holds his arms up again and Zahir picks him up, making sure he’s got a good hold before standing. He grabs Dani’s blankie from his bed, an orange and yellow knit that used to be in his crib, before stepping around the toys again and heading into the hall.

He keeps his footsteps light as he passes in front of the stairs again, knowing his baba will frown if he sees Zahir not yet in his own room. He hurries to the second door, the one right across from Maya’s room, and slips inside. He knows better than to shut the door but he slides it closed most of the way, just open enough that anyone can peek in if they need him and any animal can slink in or out.

Currently, his calico cat is curled up near his pillows, a couple rays of light coming in through his window and making a warm spot for her to sleep.

“Jersey!” Dani says in sleepy excitement as Zahir sets him on the bed.

Jersey perks up her ears and lifts her head at that, yawning wide to show off her fangs before standing in a stretch.

“You don’t mind if we crash your nap, do you Jers?” Zahir asks, scratching under her chin gently as Dani crawls around and shoves under the thick duvet.

Jersey purrs in answer before stepping around Dani’s form and settling on an extra blanket folded up near his knees. Zahir slips out of his jeans and pulls on a pair of joggers before getting in on his side. He grabs a book from the nightstand.

“Do you want me to read to you? It’s about dragons,” he says.

When he looks over at Dani, he sees that his eyes are already closed and his face is relaxed in sleep.

“That was quick,” Zahir says with a small grin before settling against his own pillows and opening his book. He reads only a chapter before his own eyes grow heavy. He’s asleep before long.

 

 

Three weeks later, Zahir wakes up feeling weird. He’s sweat through his sleep, even with the window open, and his skin somehow feels like it’s dry and scaly.

“Daddy!” he calls out, uncaring that he’s sixteen and too big to be shouting from bed. “Dad!”

“Zed?” he hears his baba say from outside the door.

“No, I want dad,” he says, throwing the duvet over his head when he hears his baba touch the door handle.

“Are you okay?” his baba asks as he steps inside.

“ _Baba_ ,” he groans, “where’s dad?”

“He’s at work, jaan. You’re worrying me.”

“I’m-“ he takes a deep breath. “I think I’m in rut.”

“Oh, jaan,” his baba says. A second later, Zahir feels a weight settle near his hip and his baba’s hands on the edge of his duvet. It gets brighter when his baba pulls down the covers, letting them rest against Zahir’s bare chest. “You can call daddy and he’ll come home.”

“Okay.”

His baba’s hands feel like fire against his temples. “You’re all tensed up, beta. Just try to relax a little. I’ll bring you some water and something to eat. Give daddy a call, okay?”

Zahir nods, face flamed in embarrassment. His baba must see or sense this because he presses his lips together, lets his hand fall and stands.

“I’ll be back in a minute and then I’ll leave you alone,” he says with a small, reassuring smile. “Call daddy.”

Zahir waits for him to leave before groaning into his pillow. Nothing more embarrassing than a first rut, he supposes, but he wishes his baba hadn’t witnessed it. He grabs for his phone without looking, squinting at the display as he pulls up his father’s contact info. He presses call and brings his mobile to his face.

“Hey, Zed.”

“Hi, dad.”

“Y’alright?”

Zahir sighs, rubbing his face with his free hand. “I think I’m in rut.”

He hears his dad let out a string of curses before it sounds like the phone is fumbled.

“Dad?”

“Sorry, I’m here. Are you okay? Do you need me to come home? I can bring you some ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Zahir laughs.

“I don’t know, whatever you want,” his dad says with a laugh of his own.

“I just want to sleep until it’s over.”

“You can,” his dad says. “When you’re older and dating someone, it’ll be a little harder to sleep through it. For now, sleeping and keeping hydrated is best. You’ll be sweating a lot but won’t absorb it back into your system. See if baba can bring you some Lucozade. D’you want me to call him?”

“No, he’s here,” Zahir says when his baba knocks. “Come in.”

Of course, his baba has Lucozade on a tray, along with beans on toast and a large glass of water.

“Hey, jaan. Is that your dad?”

Zahir nods.

“I’m going to take the twins out to the park, give you some time in the house alone. Bug’s next door and your sister is with daada. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay, baba. Thank you.”

“Can I give you a kiss?” his baba asks.

Zahir flushes and rolls his eyes but nods. His baba leans in, putting his hands on Zahir’s cheeks and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You might be alpha but you’ll always be my jaan, don’t forget.”

“Baba, jeeze, I know.”

“Text or call,” he reminds before leaving.

“Sorry, dad,” Zahir says into the phone. “I’m back.”

“S’okay, Zed. Do you need anything?”

“No, I think I’m fine on my own. Just- I didn’t know what to do at first.”

“Well,” his dad draws out the word, sighing against the receiver. “I’m not going to lie- the first few ruts are completely weird. Your hormones are already out of whack because you’re sixteen but now you’ve got even more flowing in you.”

“I learned about this stuff in school,” Zahir mumbles, getting uncomfortable again.

“Yeah, I know it’s awkward talking about with your dad. But, just try to sleep through it or take a shower or put on a dirty video-“

“ _Dad_.”

“-it’ll be okay, and your baba and I won’t ask any questions.”

Zahir feels more mortified than before, if possible. “I’m going to hang up now.”

“Love you, bubba. It’ll only be awkward for a little bit.”

“Bye!” he nearly shouts, hanging up and tossing the phone on the table.

He nibbles at the toast distractedly before sighing and opening the Lucozade. It’s the yellow flavor, the only kind he drinks, but it still takes a bit of coaching before he downs it as quickly as possible. After it’s gone, he puts the tray to the side and grabs his mp3 player from his school bag.

The headphones fit his ears perfectly, the sounds of his favourite band streaming through them helps him relax. He burrows under the covers again, closes his eyes, and forces himself to sleep through the next few hours.

 

 

When he wakes up again, the tension out of his skin and his mind calmer, he calls his baba and tells him it’s safe to come home. His parents throw him a ‘Happy Presenting!’ party with balloons, an éclair cake, and lots of hugs and kisses. Maya is thrilled- someone she can compare notes with, finally- and the other boys are just distracted and happy with the celebration.

His parents are proud of him, though, and that’s all that Zahir really cares about.


	20. harry's struggle is real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is very short, even for a drabble. not quite 2000 words. we'll see more of ben and jawhar in the next bit, too

Harry doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels old at the twins’ ten year birthday party. They’re excited for their “double digit” years but those digits have lost their glow at forty-seven and Harry is long over it. He wants his kids to all be young again, though none more than Jawhar, his middle child and the only one to have presented as omega. Jawhar is Harry’s baby, no matter how old he gets. He’s as much Harry’s ‘Bug’ at sixteen as he was at six months.

His plane had come in that morning, and Harry’s a bit jet lagged and tired from the three days spent in New York for work. He’s organizing the table full of presents for the twins and debating the benefits of another cup of coffee, when he looks up to see his Bug at the gate into the back garden. A boy about his age is with him. The flush on his son’s cheeks makes something unpleasant settle in Harry’s gut, and he immediately looks for his mate to gauge Zayn’s reaction.

Not finding him, Harry looks back to Jawhar and meets his eye. Jawhar smiles and motions Harry over. The feeling in his gut only gets worse, and he steadies the pile on the table quickly before cutting through the crowd of guests and family to get to the gate. Zayn’s at his shoulder halfway through.

“Be nice, Harry.”

“What’s going on?” Harry asks him, chancing a glance to his left before getting his eyes back on his son and the stranger, who is now holding Jawhar’s hand and fidgeting nervously. Harry is fully aware of what is happening in front of his eyes but he wants to hear Zayn say it. He needs to know how much his mate was aware of before now.

“Just be nice.”

Growling low in his throat- not enough to make their guests nervous but enough that Zayn can sense it- Harry lengthens his stride until he’s in front of his middle child and the boy who is making the stupid decision to keep holding Harry’s baby boy’s hand. “Hey, Bug,” Harry says, eyes trained on their entwined fingers.

“Daddy, baba, I want you to meet someone,” Jawhar starts, his knuckles light from the tightness of his grip.

“No,” Harry says automatically, a knee-jerk reaction.

Zayn elbows him in the side, none-too-discreetly. “Haz, shut up. Who is this young lad, Jawhar?”

Jawhar’s eyes are big, glancing between his parents quickly. “This is Ben. He’s my-”

“Absolutely not,” Harry cuts in, shaking his head. The elbow feels sharper this time but Harry refuses to flinch. “Bug, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Harry, stop it,” Zayn chastises him. “It’s nice to meet you, Ben.”

Harry glares as his traitor of a husband holds out his hand, the interloping boy before them keeping his left hand in Jawhar’s as he reaches out to shake with Zayn.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Malik.”

“Just Zayn is fine. This is my husband, Harry.”

“Mr. Malik is fine.” Harry barely holds back his grimace at himself, knowing he’s fulfilling the ‘overbearing dad’ act to every last cliché detail but unable to stop himself. His son shouldn’t be holding hands with a boy Harry doesn’t know.

“Erm,” Ben says, trying to subtly wipe his palm on his hip before holding his hand out to Harry.

Harry looks down at it, weighing the risk of another elbow in the same spot- Zayn has deadly aim- before deciding to take a deep breath and reciprocate. “I’m kidding, of course,” he chokes out, “Harry is fine.”

The relief that washes over Ben’s face is obvious and even Jawhar’s shoulders relax a bit. “Ben’s my boyfriend,” Jawhar says, words coming fast.

Harry briefly remembers the lovely days when Jawhar was a small, mostly non-verbal child. As much as it could be frustrating trying to convince Jawhar to use his words in place of grunts and hand gestures, it was also never a threat that his baby bug would utter the words ‘my boyfriend’. Harry misses those times.

“When did this happen?” Harry asks, folding his arms across his chest and looking only at his son.

Jawhar flushes deeper, his smile softening as he looks over at Ben. “A couple of days ago,” Jawhar answers, looking back at Harry. “I wanted you to meet him before just telling you.”

“Well, let’s not stand around the gate all day,” Zayn says after a moment of silence, Jawhar and his little friend both fidgeting under Harry’s gaze. “There’s a ton of food and fizzy drinks. We’re going to be doing cakes soon, I hope you’ll be staying for that, Ben.”

Ben breaks the staring contest he probably hadn’t known he had been having with Harry. Harry still counts it as win. He hears Zayn’s words a moment too late. “You’re staying?” he asks.

“Daddy-“ Jawhar says, rolling his eyes. He finally, finally, drops the boys hand and steps forward, arms going around Harry’s neck in a tight hug. “He’s a good guy, I promise,” Jawhar says, resting his cheek on Harry’s shoulder for a second before he lets go and steps back.

Harry watches him take Ben’s hand again, pulling him past them in a beeline to his older brother and sister, the two of them home from uni for the summer.

“I don’t like it,” Harry says to Zayn.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

“What did you know about this?”

“Nothing.” Harry glares at him. “Haz, come on. I didn’t know anything. Jawhar came home from school two days ago with a grin permanently plastered to his face. I figured he maybe had a crush; I didn’t know anything specific.”

“This is what happens when I leave.”

“Yes, Harry,” Zayn sighs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He gets an arm around Harry’s waist and turns him around to face the party. “You leave for one of your short business trips and your son gets a boyfriend. It has nothing to do with him being a gorgeous, sixteen year-old boy. It’s only because you left.”

“He’s acting out because he missed me.” Harry’s smiling now, too, relaxing in Zayn’s hold and teasing back.

“That’s probably it,” Zayn mock agrees.

Harry laughs, swinging his arm around so he’s holding Zayn as well, turning him in his grip and leaning in to kiss him. They keep is soft and chaste in front of their crowded garden, but Harry feels the edge of Zayn’s teeth nip at his bottom lip in a tease, and Harry growls low again before letting go and stepping back.

“You better be on your best behavior,” Zayn warns him before he turns and heads into the house to help his mum.

Harry isn’t proud of the face he pulls at his husband’s back.

A peal of laughter catches his attention about the same time a body smacks into his hip. Harry smiles as he looks down, Sami clinging to the hem of his shirt. “Birthday boy!” Harry crows, bending and picking him up, one arm under his bum and the other holding his hip to steady him.

“Daddy, put me down. I’m too old to be picked up.”

“I disagree. You’ll never be too old for your Daddy to carry you.”

Sami wriggles and laughs, one arm around Harry’s neck. “Take me to the candy, then,” he says with an honest-to-god sigh. Harry grins and complies.

“Do you know where Dani is?”

“Yep. But he told me he’s too old to be called Dani now,” Sami replies. “He thinks Danyal sounds more grown up.”

“I’m completely against all of this ‘growing up’ you and your bhaiya seem to be attempting,” Harry pouts. Sami just shrugs in his hold and kicks a bit when they get to the table holding the truly offensive assortment of candy choices. Harry puts him down, running a hand through his blonde curls before looking around for his twin.

It doesn’t take long to find his long, brown hair. He is surrounded by his cousins and some friends from school. They’re playing at being cowboys and soldiers- or something, Harry isn’t really sure- and Harry decides to leave him be for now. He looks around the garden at all of the relatives crammed in, his and Zayn’s families intermixed throughout, but his scanning stops when he catches sight of Jawhar and Ben in the corner near the back door.

The sight of his bug being kissed is something Harry is decidedly unprepared for, and he somehow manages to walk into the house without wrenching them apart. He walks into the kitchen where Trisha and Zayn are putting the last of the candles on the two cakes. Zayn looks up, his smile fading when he sees Harry’s face.

“Babe, what is it?” Zayn asks, dropping what’s in his hands and coming around the worktop to get his hands on Harry’s waist.

“Jawhar is-“ Harry starts, but he gets too mad to continue so he stops and takes a breath.

“What?” Zayn asks, squeezing a bit.

“He’s kissing _that boy_.”

Immediately, Zayn’s arms fall to his sides. “What?” he repeats, but his eyes are narrowing. “You nearly scared me half to death, Haz.”

“Did you not _hear_ me?” Harry asks, his voice breaking.

“Yes, I heard you. Our son is kissing his boyfriend, alert the bloody press.”

Zayn turns and walks away, resuming his work with the candles. Harry looks to Trisha for support, but she’s smiling and keeping her head down. It’s a clear sign that she isn’t going to volunteer to get in the middle of this.

“Zayn,” Harry tries again. His mate ignores him. “Zaaaayyyyyn.”

“Haz, step off.”

“You didn’t even see them.”

“Jawhar is a good boy and Ben seems nice. They’re at a family thing, I highly doubt they’re out there necking or dry humping.”

“Dry humping- do you think they’re having sex?” Harry asks, whispering the last bit as if to keep Trisha from overhearing. Her little snort indicates his efforts were for naught, but Harry’s too stressed by this new information to really care.

“What were _you_ doing at sixteen?” Zayn asks, shooting a brief glance at Harry before they start lighting the candles, ten on each cake.

“I-“ Harry flushes. “Were you having sex at sixteen?”

Zayn looks over at Trisha, who has dropped the act and is looking back. “Of course not,” Zayn says after a pause. “I didn’t have sex until the night Zahir was conceived, obviously.”

Trisha rolls her eyes. “Can you two put this on hold until after the birthday boys blow out their candles?” Harry nods, still pouting. He carefully picks up the one she had been working on while Zayn handles the other. They both follow her outside.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” he hisses, though he’s pleased to note that Jawhar and Ben have broken apart and are gathering around the extra-long table in the back.

Zayn’s response is lost in the sound of nearly fifty people starting to sing.

For all that the twins look nothing alike, their ear-to-ear smiles are near identical and they blow out their candles in sync once the singing has stopped. The guests all clap when every candle is extinguished, and Harry leans in to give them each a big kiss. They’re giggling and smiling, Zayn right behind him, and Harry can hear the sounds of a dozen or so camera phones snapping candids of the celebration.

“Happy birthday, boys,” Harry says, ducking in for a second kiss after Zayn’s hugged and kissed each of them. “Now stop growing up, okay?”

Dani laughs, brushing his hair back from his face. “Dad, you’re silly.”

 _When did my children move from calling me daddy to calling me dad?_ Harry thinks, allowing himself a bit of a pity party before throwing himself back into the birthday shenanigans full blast.


	21. walking, talking cliche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> harry is still not handling the 'ben situation' very well

“He didn’t even stay to help clean up.”

“That’s nice.”

Harry stops pacing at the foot of the bed, looking at Zayn. His mate doesn’t appear to be listening, glasses on and completely focused on the book he’s reading. As Harry watches, he slowly turns the page.

“Zayn, I think Jawhar should be grounded.”

“Mhm.”

“And we should make a rule in this house: no dating, at all, ever.”

“Okay.”

“Zayn, remember how you promised yesterday you were gonna blow me?”

“Not a chance.”

“Worth a shot,” Harry grins, settling on the bed next to his husband. “Whatcha reading?”

“It’s a story about a boy named Harry who overreacts to everything.” Zayn looks at him then, his eyes bright in the light from their bedside table lamp.

Having heard worse accusations, Harry doesn’t lose his grin. “Is he cute at least?”

“Oh, devastatingly so.”

“He probably deserves a kiss for the self-restraint he exercised earlier today.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, looking back at his book. “What self-restraint? When you refused to speak to or answer Ben when he asked you what you do for work?”

“No.”

“Oh, right, when you started grilling him about his marks in school? Or if he had a job? Or what he wanted to go to university for even though he’s sixteen and your two kids currently in uni aren’t even sure?”

Harry pouts. “No, not then either.”

“When? What self-restraint did you show?”

“I stopped referring to him as ‘that boy’ before he left.”

Zayn looks up at him, eyes wide as if he’s surprised by the answer. He’s smiling, albeit seemingly against his will, and he chuckles before he leans in. “I guess that was mighty swell of you,” he teases, accent thick around a cowboy-style twang.

Harry closes the distance between them. He tries to drag it out but Zayn pulls back after a second and buries his nose in his book again, pushing up his glasses. Harry sighs.

“I keep thinking that, one day, you’ll choose sex with me over reading by yourself.”

“I could read aloud if you like, if that means you’ll be quiet.”

Groaning, Harry shifts on the bed and lays his head in his husband’s lap. “Carry on,” he says, smiling when one of Zayn’s hands falls to the crown of his head and starts mindlessly twirling through his curls as he reads aloud.

Zayn’s voice is soft but sure, tongue thick over the vowels, and it isn’t long before Harry’s asleep.

~*~

Jawhar offers to help Harry clear the breakfast dishes Saturday morning.

“I want Ben to come to dinner tonight.”

Startled, Harry lets the cup he’s cleaning slip out of his soapy hands. It clatters against the granite sink, the sound loud in the suddenly silent room. “Why?” he asks, picking the glass back up and scrubbing it a bit forcefully considering it only had only held Harry’s water.

Jawhar shrugs, taking the glass once Harry rinses it. “I wish you would have been nicer to Ben, daddy,” Jawhar says as he dries, green eyes wide behind his glasses. “I want you to like him.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He focuses on getting dried egg from the tines of the forks while he thinks.

Jawhar doesn’t let him take too long.

“I really like him, daddy.”

“You’re sixteen,” Harry dismisses automatically. He doesn’t need to look at his son to know that he’s pouting, has seen it on his own face enough. “Bug, you just. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“That’s not fair: what if you had met baba when you were sixteen? Would have you listened to Grandma Anne telling you that you were too young?”

Harry keeps forgetting that his kids are getting old enough to call him out on his shit, and he doesn’t much care for it. “That’s completely different.”

“How?”

“Your baba is my soulmate.”

Jawhar’s silent for long enough that Harry glances at him. His eyes are somehow even wider and are dark with a shine of tears. Jawhar is breathing deeply, his lean frame shaking. Harry sighs, realization striking.

“Oh, bug. You’ve only just started dating him.”

“I know,” Jawhar admits, looking down. He puts away the dry cup, wringing the hand towel. “I just. It feels different, with Ben.”

“You haven’t dated much,” Harry tries. “You don’t have a lot to compare it to.”

“But you always told us that you just knew, when you met baba.”

“Yes, but I didn’t meet your baba until I was twenty-two. I had dated enough to know what made your baba different.”

“Ben’s different,” Jawhar insists. Harry smiles crookedly, trying to figure out how to explain it to Jawhar. “Seriously, daddy.”

“Okay,” Harry allows, pulling the drain on the sink before rescuing the towel from Jawhar’s hands and drying his own. He leads them over to the breakfast table, the morning light casting the entire room in a golden glow. He sits and pushes a chair out for Jawhar with his foot. “Tell me why this boy is different.”

“Are you ever going to say his name?” Harry shrugs and Jawhar smiles. “Ben’s funny. Not in a… not like a stand up comedian, but he’s sarcastic. He always makes me laugh when we hang out.”

Harry nods, leaning back in his chair. “Lots of people are funny.”

“I know. But Ben likes being funny _for me_. He tells me jokes if he thinks I haven’t smiled in too long, or he always saves articles or funny things online to tell me about them if he thinks I’ll laugh. Lots of people are funny but lots of people aren’t being funny just for me.”

Harry grunts.

“And he’s not like the other boys in school. He doesn’t puff himself up or try to be anything he isn’t just to impress people. He falls over everything, including nothing, and he doesn’t get embarrassed by it. He just laughs it off or reenacts it if it was funny enough. He always has little bruises and there’s always a funny story for them.” Jawhar shifts in his chair, tucking his foot under his bum. “He’s only ever gotten mad around me once,” he starts.

“What?” Harry asks, adrenaline rising, but Jawhar is already putting his hand up and shaking his head.

“Not at me, daddy, jeeze. There was an alpha on the footie team who was picking on this beta girl, saying really mean things to her, and Ben was passing by and just walked up to him and put the girl behind him. He made sure the alpha boy left her alone and still checks in with her every so often, even though she isn’t a very nice person and has been mean to Ben before.”

“He sounds like a good _friend_ , bug. But I don’t know-”

“He looks at me the way you look at baba.”

Startled, Harry crosses his arms. “He can’t possibly.”

“I’m telling you, daddy. Ben looks at me the exact same way you look at baba. Like I’m something special.”

“Bug, you are someone special but you don’t need this boy,” Jawhar glares, “ _Ben_ , to prove that.”

“He doesn’t _make_ me special. He just makes me feel like someone else besides my family thinks so.”

Harry sighs, feeling resigned. “I don’t know about this.”

Jawhar’s genuinely frowning, not just a contrived pout to get his way but legitimately like he’s completely crushed. “Maya and Zahir got to start dating when they were sixteen.”

To himself, Harry thinks, ‘but Maya and Zahir never looked at anyone the way you look at _that boy_ ’ even though he knows that’s unfair. Aloud he says, “I don’t mind you dating, as long as it is casual. I’m worried that you’re getting too serious, too quickly.”

“Daddy, I’m not.”

“You’re comparing this boy to your baba and I!”

“I just mean that I can see us getting there, one day. I wouldn’t waste my time with someone who was completely wrong for me, right?”

Harry nods. “That makes sense,” he allows.

“I’ve known Ben for a long time, we’ve been in school together for years. We never interacted a lot but we’ve been doing things in groups of friends lately and he just. We gravitated towards each other. It’s new but it isn’t fast.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes, Harry staring resolutely out the window into the back garden. Jawhar keeps shifting in his chair, the feet scratching against the travertine floor. It’s not helping Harry’s headache. He glances over and Jawhar stops, rolling his eyes.

“Baba!” he calls out, exasperation clear.

“That’s low,” Harry shoots back, arms dropping to the table. Jawhar stares back at him, defiant, until Zayn comes in the room.

“Are you two playing nicely?” Zayn teases, pouring himself a glass of juice before sitting with them at the table. Neither answer and Zayn does a double-take. “Guess not. Tell baba what’s happening.”

“Daddy is giving me a hard time about Ben coming to dinner.”

“I haven’t decided if he’s invited,” Harry corrects. He looks at Zayn, whose staring at him. “What?”

Jawhar answers instead, a little smirk on his face. “Baba told me yesterday to invite him to dinner.”

Betrayed. “What was the point of all of this, then?”

“Your son wants you to be nice to his boyfriend,” Zayn says, crossing his own arms. “He thought if he explained to you how he was feeling, you would come around, but it looks like you’re being a stubborn git instead.”

“That’s not- I- ugh,” Harry says, blowing out a breath through his nose. “I’m not being difficult on purpose to ruin your life or anything, bug.”

“I know, daddy,” Jawhar says, his smirk fading and his eyes wide in earnestness behind his glasses. “You’re not doing it to be mean but you’re still being mean anyway. Not to me,” he adds when Harry makes to speak again. “You’re being mean to _Ben_. Baba likes him, maybe you could give him a shot, too.”

“Baba likes him?” Harry repeats, looking to Zayn with an eyebrow high.

Zayn matches his expression with a stubborn one of his own. “Yes, he was helping me after the party and we got to talking. You know, when you thought Ben just left without helping to clean up?” Zayn says, referring to Harry’s griping a few days before.

He has to admit he’s surprised Zayn had even heard him that night, but he still doesn’t appreciate having it thrown back at him. He levels his mate a suspicious look but Zayn just blinks at him from behind his glasses. Harry looks between his husband and his son for a moment, the most obvious difference between them being the green eyes and dimples Jawhar inherited from Harry. Otherwise, they’re nearly identical right now.

Identical frowns, identical furrows between their brows, identical soft brown fringe falling into their eyes. It’s impossible for Harry to win this standoff, and he knows it. The knowledge doesn’t stop him from dragging it out another thirty seconds, trying to regain the upper hand.

Finally, he relents. “We’re not serving him dessert though,” he says.

Jawhar grins and yelps with glee, practically diving around the table to pull Harry into a bone crushing hug. “Thank you, thank you, daddy!”

Harry grumbles instead of answering, returning Jawhar’s hug tight before letting him run out of the kitchen. “I mean it about dessert,” he calls out to his retreating back.

“That’ll make him stop dating your son,” Zayn agrees, words dripping with sarcasm, “no ice cream after dinner.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

Zayn laughs.

~*~

Dinner is a disaster.

Harry doesn’t remember when he lost control of the situation, but he’s certain he has none now.

Ben shows up exactly five minutes early, two small but admittedly pretty bouquets of flowers in his hands. Ben gives one to Zayn when he answers the door and the other to Jawhar with a smile and a kiss on the cheek that was so innocent even Harry couldn’t find anything to complain about. Ben offers assistance approximately ten times before dinner is served and Harry watches, helpless, as Zayn grows more and more charmed by him.

He and Jawhar are almost always touching, too. Whether it’s Jawhar’s hand on Ben’s shoulder as he teases Ben for the way he sets the table or it’s Ben’s arm wrapped tight around Jawhar’s waist as he tickles him in retaliation for the teasing, they’re never very far from each other.

“Stop staring,” Zayn chides.

Startled, Harry steps back from where he’d been peeking around the doorframe into the living room. Zayn is smirking at him from the kitchen counter, spooning pasta into a serving dish. Dani- _Danyal_ \- helps with a frown on his face, mixing a salad carefully. He’d been climbing the rotting tree in the back garden- something he knows he isn’t supposed to do- and Zayn’s version of grounding always includes helping with housework.

Harry, for his part, feels about as miserable as his son looks.

“Zayn, this is ridiculous. You’re serving your mum’s mango pasta salad, this boy hasn’t earned that.”

“What should I have made, Harry? Frozen pizza and garlic bread?”

“He certainly doesn’t need the bread.”

Danyal laughs until Zayn looks at him with a raised eyebrow. He immediately stops, shamefaced, but watches them with open interest as he carefully carries the salad bowl to the table until he rounds the corner and is out of sight.

“I just think,” Harry starts but Zayn cuts him off.

“I know what you think, Harry. Bug knows what you think and I’d be willing to bet our house that Ben is more than well aware of what you think. But- and listen carefully because I mean it with everything in me- _it doesn’t matter what you think_. Jawhar may be your little bug, he might worship the ground you walk on, but he is sixteen years old and he is going to date whoever he likes.”

“I-“

“No, Harry, listen to me. The more you push back at this, the worse it will get for you. Remember when Jawhar asked for a belly ring when Maya got one? You said no and ranted and raved about it so much that he didn’t let the subject go. I took him to get one after a month of hearing his side of it, and you eventually came around.”

“This is different.”

“No, it really isn’t. You were dating at sixteen, I was dating at sixteen-“ Harry pulls a face but Zayn pushes on, ignoring him. “Zahir and Maya were both allowed to date at sixteen. The twins will be allowed to date when they’re sixteen. We don’t set different house rules for our pups.”

Harry sighs, shoulders dropping. “He’s my baby, though.”

Zayn’s face softens, and he comes around the worktop to get his hands on Harry’s shoulders. His husband smells like the mango cream sauce he’d made. It’s soothing.

“I know Jawhar and you have your special bond. I know the alpha in you is twice as protective of him since he presented. He’s our bug, though, and this boy is important enough to him that he came to me last night, practically in tears, asking what needed to happen to get you on board.”

“He was upset?”

“A little.”

Harry pouts, taking in a deep breath. What he says next almost hurts, physically. “I’ll be nice to the boy.”

Zayn smiles and leans in for a quick peck on the lips. “I love you, even if you’re completely crazy.” Harry wraps an arm around Zayn’s waist, keeping him close and pushing for another kiss which Zayn grants him before slipping away. “I need to finish this right now.”

“No, cmon, real quick,” Harry tries, knowing there’s no chance but enjoying the way Zayn gets flushed regardless. “I’ll make it good for you.”

“I’ve no doubt about that,” Zayn says, eyes dark. “I’ll make you a deal: if you manage to refer to ‘the boy’ by his name three separate times, I’ll do that thing you like tonight when the kids are asleep.”

Harry has to close his eyes and push Zayn away, laughing at the way he immediately feels warm with the images flashing through his mind. “You’re a menace,” he says.

Zayn just laughs.

Before Harry can comeback with anything else, Danyal comes into the kitchen.

“Maya’s staying for dinner, too, baba. We need another plate.”

“I thought she was going out with friends,” Zayn says, more to himself than anything. He grabs a plate and silverware down from the cupboard, handing them to Danyal with a soft ‘thank you’.

“And miss dad’s complete break down at seeing bug with a boyfriend?” Maya says, sauntering into the room with all the sass common in twenty year old alpha girls. She’s the spitting image of Harry’s mum, sometimes, with plenty of the Styles attitude. Harry has been helplessly ruled by her long before she presented. She’s the only girl in the house and has learned her alpha traits more from her Auntie Safaa than from Harry, which is why she loves to torment him.

“Do I ever win in this house?” Harry ponders aloud.

“No,” three voices answer him and Harry glares at Danyal’s back as he leaves again, feeling betrayed by the unity.

“Win what?” Jawhar asks, coming into the room with Ben behind him.

“Nothing,” Harry assures him.

He catches Zayn’s eye, reading the look of warning there, before turning back around. He can almost see the nerves rolling off of Ben’s lean frame. He doesn’t exactly enjoy the utter fear he inspires in the boy, and he definitely doesn’t want to think that his actions are upsetting his son.

“So, _Ben_ ,” he stresses, trying to smile. “Where does your family live again?”

In the time it takes Ben to get over his shock and begin to answer, Harry looks at his husband again.

‘That’s one’ he mouths.


	22. unexpected news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back for the moment! a little, very small something i've daydreamed of for awhile.

Harry is halfway through his nightly routine when his mobile rings. He glances at the display before wiping his hands. “Babe, it’s Jawhar,” he calls out to Zayn before answering. “Hi, bug.”

“Daddy, hi!” Jawhar says, his voice shaky through the connection.

“How’s the Caribbean? You sound so far away.”

“It’s fine, it’s warm and sunny. Is baba around?”

Zayn sticks his head around the doorframe a second before he’s mentioned, smiling and swiping his hair from his face. “Jawhar’s calling?”

“Yeah, not sure what’s going on,” Harry tells him, static cutting over the line. “It’s like we’re on a phone call in the fifties.”

“Does he sound happy?”

“Jawhar? Can you hear me?” Harry shakes his head. “He sounds like he’s calling through a conch shell.”

A last crackle and the line clears. “Sorry, daddy, can you hear me better?”

“Perfectly. Everything alright, bug? Do you need baba and I to get you out of there?”

“Harry!” Zayn scolds him at the same time Jawhar laughs. “I’m still with Ben, daddy,” Jawhar says. “Did you think that would suddenly change after three years?” Zayn sneers.

“One person breaking my heart at a time, please,” Harry says, glaring at Zayn in the mirror when he turns to finish cleaning his face. “I’m putting you on speaker, Jawhar, baba’s here too.”

“Hi baba.”

“Hi baby. What did you call to tell us?”

“Daddy might want to sit down…”

Harry feels his stomach clench in worry, his eyes locked on Zayn’s through their reflections again. _I’ll kill Ben, I’ll kill him, he’s dead_ Harry thinks in the seconds it takes him to perch on the edge of the tub. “I’m sitting.”

“We’re pregnant!”

_I’ll kill Ben, I’ll kill him, he’s dead._

“Daddy?”

_I’ll poison his food then I’ll bind him while he sleeps and I’ll tweeze every hair out of his body._

“Daddy, did you stop breathing?”

_My baby is only nineteen, this is not happening, I refuse to accept this._

“Baba?”

“We’re here, bug. Your daddy is… a strange shade of green right now but he’s here.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you over the phone.”

“Eh, putting him within arm’s reach of Ben would probably be a bad idea, too.” Zayn laughs, glaring at Harry all the while. “What does this mean for the wedding, though? I think daddy was still dealing with that thought.”

“We’re going to push it back a little now, focus on starting our family instead.”

“Jawhar…”

“There’s no rush, baba,” he insists. “We’re mated and committed. I’ve always thought the rest was just… paperwork.”

“When are you coming home? I want to see you! How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, we’re only about eight weeks in. I went to a doctor today to be sure. I couldn’t wait to call.”

“Is Ben there?” Harry asks, startling his husband with his sudden snap back to the present.

“He’s right here, daddy. Are you going to be nice?”

“Put him on the phone, please.”

“Hold on.”

Zayn puts a gentle hand on the small of Harry’s back, slipping under his shirt and running his fingers along the bottom of Harry’s spine. “Be gentle,” he whispers.

“Harry, hey.”

“So, you and Jawhar are going to be parents.” He walks into his bedroom, settling into his chair by the fireplace, and crosses his legs. He can see where Zayn is still in the toilet, watching him through the mirror, but Harry ignores him.

“Yeah, it’s… crazy.”

“You guys are nineteen years old, what do you know about being parents?”

Ben’s silent for a moment and Harry thinks he can hear him shuffling around. Finally, he sighs. “Jawhar knows what it’s like to be a big brother but, to be honest, neither of us know anything about being parents. This wasn’t- obviously, we want children but we didn’t think this would happen for years.”

Harry feels his heart rate calming, the initial adrenaline draining from his body. “What are you going to do about uni?”

“Moon is going to uni in the fall.”

The decisiveness of Ben’s words startles Harry, but not enough to distract from, “Moon?”

“I-,” Ben hesitates. “Well, it’s just a little… Jawhar and I are reading this book about Mah Laqa Bai and a character is named Jawhar and is linked to the moon.”

“So _that’s_ your nickname for him?” Harry laughs, though not cruelly. “The father of your unborn baby?”

“You guys call him Bug,” Ben retorts and it shocks a deeper laugh out of Harry.

He shifts in his chair as Zayn turns the light off in the toilet, crossing into the room and starting to undress. “So, you and Moon,” Harry stresses, rolling his eyes when Zayn looks over. “How are you going to ensure he goes to uni?”

“I’m going to do whatever I have to do. He’s going to go to school- if that’s what he wants- and he’s going to study anything he wants. I’ll get up with the baby at night, I’ll stay home when Moon has class or homework, and I’ll be there for anything else he needs. I’m sure you guys will want to have the baby over and I know my parents will as well. We’ve got the best support system and everyone is rooting for Jawhar.”

Thumbing a loose string from the chair’s stitching, Harry clears his throat. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you going to school? Are you going to do your studies?”

Ben coughs. “I hadn’t thought about it. Only because,” he starts, as if he knows what Harry is going to say next, “I didn’t plan on going at all. I’m going to start apprenticing with my mum. I will probably go for a business degree at some point but that’s not for awhile. Jawhar will have all the time in the world to go to uni and I’ll be there with the baby.”

“The baby.” _Wow, a baby. My baby’s having a baby._

“Yeah… Harry, I just want you to know that my commitment to Jawhar has never wavered. I don’t care what the world throws at us, I don’t care if you hate me forever, I’m his. I would never walk away from him.”

“I know.”

“You’re still going to hate me forever, though, aren’t you?”

“It’s nothing personal. You’ll understand… soon enough.”

Ben’s quiet and Harry feels a twinge of guilt.

“I hate you less than I used to,” he offers, smiling when he hears Ben chuckle. “I’m not going to pretend like hearing that you guys are pregnant at nineteen is amazingly welcome news.”

“I know.”

“I’m also not going to pretend like it isn’t happy news. A surprise, yes, and your ages are cause for worry but this is a baby; that’s never bad news.”

“I know.”

“Put your Moon back on the phone and tell him I was awful to you,” Harry jokes.

“Not going to be accused of being soft now that you’re a grandpa?”

“Grandpa,” Harry repeats, mortified at the way his voice catches.

Zayn looks over from where he’s slipped under the duvet, a brilliant smile on his face. “Grampy, because you’re such a grump when Ben’s around.”

“Shush you.”

“Here’s Jawhar. And Harry- thanks. Contrary to what it may seem, you’ve not been that bad.”

“Doesn’t follow the rules, either. Like he needs something else added to his ‘con’ column,” Harry says to Zayn while the phone is passed back over. “What will happen if he’s not afraid of me anymore?”

“He’s not afraid of you _now_.”

Harry scoffs.

“Daddy? Were you nice to him?”

“He says you’ve still got plans for uni. Is this true?”

“I’ll go this semester as long as everything is fine with the baby. Then we’ll have to see. But I do plan on finishing a degree.”

“It’s important to your baba and I.”

“I know.”

Harry stands from his chair, knees creaking, and foregoes the rest of his nightly routine in favour of climbing into bed next to his mate. “We’re excited about the baby, bug. It’s…”

“Sudden,” Zayn supplies, leaning in to speak into the mobile. “But we’re here for anything you need.”

“Always,” Harry agrees.

Jawhar laughs into the receiver, clearly riding a happy high. “We’re coming home day after tomorrow- I want to come straight over.”

“Don’t make a single stop,” Harry says.

“Okay. I’m gonna go- we have to call Ben’s family still. I love you both.”

“Bye bye bug. We’ll see you soon,” Zayn says.

“Bye beta,” Harry says.

Harry sets his mobile on its charger once he hangs up, settling further into his pillows and pulling Zayn closer with an arm around his shoulders. “C’mere, love. Come reassure me that,” he pauses to arch his back, getting more comfortable, “I’m still desirable in my old age.”

“You’re fifty, Haz. You’ve got so many years in you.”

“I’m a father to six and now a grandfather-to-be. This is mad. My _nineteen year old_ is having a baby.”

“God, he’s so young. I was such an idiot at nineteen.”

“You were with Chad when you were nineteen.”

Zayn turns in his hold, looking up at him with a fond expression. “I was,” he agrees. “Can’t imagine being pregnant then.”

“You were waiting for me.”

Nearly thirty years together has given Zayn the patience to deal with Harry’s jealous turns and he’s thankful for that now when his husband just laughs and tucks his head further into Harry’s neck, bare arm wrapping around Harry’s chest. “I was waiting,” Zayn agrees. “But Bug didn’t have to wait- he found his mate when he was sixteen. Did you know he’s been out of the house nearly a year now?”

Harry shakes his head.

“I realised it just last night. Next week is one full year since Jawhar and Ben moved into their flat. They’re young but they’re committed, as fully as any could be, and they’re good boys. They will learn what it means to be parents and we will help them.”

Harry feels warmth spread through his chest and he sighs, content through his alpha senses that his family- his mate and their children- are safe, though spread across the globe as they currently are. He lifts a hand, running his fingers carefully through Zayn’s hair- thin lines of gray flecked throughout the black. He presses a kiss to the crown of his mate’s head.

“Our next era is upon us,” he says in a somber tone.

Zayn snuffs out a laugh. “Your entire life is going to change when you hold your grandbaby in your arms, my love. Sooner, when you feel her kick in your son’s stomach.”

“Her?”

Zayn shrugs. “Fifty-fifty odds, I suppose. My money is on a little girl.”

Harry’s surprised when he feels an almost-purr rumble through his chest. “I’ll take that bet.” _I’ll win, either way._


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter in two days DON'T GET USED TO IT. this has literally been sitting in my drafts for about six months or so. i added lines every so often but trying to finish it for nicki's birthday (oops, didn't happen) was the only thing that got me writing it again for real. it's super sappy and cliche and i would apologize but, like, it is what it is. that's what i put out into the world, fluff and sap and cliche.

The twins have skipped their afternoon naps and Harry is paying for it. Zayn glares at him from across the patio, a subtle narrowing of his eyes because he’s trying to be nice in front of Gabe but Harry would know his husband’s mood if he were drunk and blindfolded. _I know_ , he tries to tell Zayn telepathically. _I should’ve listened to you._

Gabe is smirking around his beer, clearly aware of the mood. He doesn’t try to rescue Harry at all. It isn’t surprising that his husband’s already won the loyalty of Harry’s long-lost son but it would be helpful if anyone in the family was on Harry's side. Ever.

“Is there any point of trying to put them down, now?” Harry asks in a defeated tone, rocking a whining Danyal in his arms. “Hush, baby,” he tries, pressing a kiss to Dani’s brow. “I should have listened to baba, I know. Please don’t fuss.”

“They’re not going to like it,” Zayn says, coming over to pry Sami away from where he’s gripping onto Harry’s trousers and tugging for attention in frustration. “They need to nap, though, or this will just get worse.”

“Do you have a magic trick for it?”

Zayn shakes his head, a smile on his face even with two upset toddlers between them. Zayn leans in, using his free hand to brush an erratic curl behind Harry’s ear before pressing a kiss to his brow in an exact mirror of Harry’s kiss to Dani. It’s gentle and sweet and Harry feels genuine heat spread through his blood from his brow like Zayn’s just pressed a blessing to his skin.

“I’m gonna go do my best, then,” Harry says. “You two,” he stands, glaring dramatically between his husband and his son as he holds out his arm for Sami, “don’t plan too many ways to gang up on me, alright? Take it easy on me.”

“We make no promises,” Gabe says.

Harry pouts but turns to go back into the house. Bongo stays outside, sniffing around in the corner of the garden where bunnies tend to burrow, but Cindy comes in with him. She winds around his ankles as he carefully slides the glass door closed, bouncing the twins and humming a cheerful song to keep their attention. “You boys are never going to turn on me, right?” he asks. “Gonna be on daddy’s side forever, yes?”

“No.” Well, Sami is a traitor. Dani smiles wide and repeats after his brother. Harry carries them up the stairs and to the nursery, a litany of ‘no’ preceding them until they get into the room and he puts them down in their cribs one at a time.

They start whimpering the second they realise he’s trying to put them down for a nap, Dani standing in his crib and shaking the rail as he does his best attempt at a wilhelm scream. Sami kicks at his mattress, grunting in dissatisfaction. Harry ignores them and heads to his bedroom. He grabs Zayn’s guitar from its stand and carries it back into the nursery, settling into the rocking chair and lifting his feet up onto the ottoman. The twins are still fussing but Harry starts picking at the strings anyway. He’s a little clumsy with it from lack of practice but he starts an old song Yaser had taught him to play when Jawhar had been colicky as a baby.

 _“Chanda hai tu, mera sooraj hai tu_ ,” he sings, the Hindi coming to him as if he’d learned it only yesterday. He looks over at the twins, smiling through the next line as he sees them both watching him quietly, their eyes wide and enraptured. Harry keeps his voice strong through the whole song, carrying on even after Dani finally settles on his back and both of them fall asleep.

He lulls himself into a sleepy state, as well, but he shakes it off when the song is over. He stands carefully and tiptoes out of the room, replacing Zayn’s guitar in their room before heading back outside.

“There you are!” Zayn calls. He and Gabe are tossing a ball across the lawn for Bongo, who seems to be losing his mind in excitement as he dashes off at light-speed back and forth. “We thought the twins drove you off.”

Harry grins and crosses over to them, letting his hand slide down Zayn’s t-shirt-covered spine. “Not getting rid of me,” he promises. “Besides, the pups will be home soon. How are we going to tell them about Gabe?”

“I can go-“

“No!”

Zayn and Harry smile sheepishly at their synchronized shout. “We don’t want you to go anywhere,” Harry says. “I just, like,” he pauses. “I just found you.”

Gabe grins, glancing at the ground. “I just found you, too.”

Harry sees Zayn press the tips of his fingers to his cheek and knows his mate is wiping away a tear. The both of them have been trading tears back and forth since Harry had met Gabe hours before. Harry squeezes Zayn’s waist tighter for a second before separating from him and crossing the small distance towards Gabe. “Let’s talk about your schooling for a bit,” Harry encourages. “Do you know which branch of law you want to focus on?”

“Immigration, I think,” Gabe answers right away. “Or maybe be a human rights attorney. Something to help people who need it.”

Harry slides his arm around Gabe’s shoulder, almost startled at how tall he is. He’s used to having a bit of height on Zayn and Zahir’s only up to Harry’s chest, though he thinks he’ll be tall like his daddy in the end. Gabe’s almost of a height with Harry, nearly a carbon copy save for the blonde hair and the softer features he inherited from his mum.

“You’ve got a good streak in you, huh?” Harry asks, leading him over to a bench swing in the back.

The back garden of their Salford home is Harry’s crowning achievement. When they had been looking to move out of their cramped flat, no house had been right. They’d combed through Greater Manchester, looking for perfection, and had wasted about six months of time before Zayn had finally sighed as they’d left a two storey detached in Disbury.

“Build one, then,” he’d said. So that’s what Harry did.

They’d purchased a developed plot of land, five acres of sprawling green with trees lining the property. Harry and Zayn had hired Liam’s company to build them a house, consulting on every room, but Harry had claimed sole control of the gardens. The front garden was mostly plain, a few shrubs lining the path up to the door and a flower patch Zayn tends, but the back garden was perfect. The gray brick of the back patio complements the green of the lawn and the purple of the lavender and lilac sprigs in the bushes Zayn and Zahir had planted the summer before last. Jawhar and Maya control one of the smaller vegetable patches, no carrots or lettuce to be seen, and Bongo and Cindy monitor the larger one that’s flush with greens to keep the bunnies away. There’s a dining room-sized table and chairs on the patio, swing benches and loungers grouped across the lawn, and a hot tub to the side of the house that is big enough that Maya still thinks it’s a pool. There’s a playscape and a sand pit that Harry regrets, a shed with bikes and scooters stocked full, and more than enough room for a barn and paddock if Jawhar doesn’t grow out of his horse phase by the time he’s old enough to ask for one.

Harry settles back against the seat, his legs crossed so one foot can push off against the ground and get the seat in motion. Gabe sits like Maya does, one knee up and tucked under his chin with his other leg tucked under his bottom. He’s smiling.

“What?”

Gabe shrugs. “Feels surreal. Like this is all a dream and I’m going to wake up to find that you lot don’t actually want anything to do with me.”

Harry frowns. “That makes you smile?”

Gabe laughs, his mother’s tone shining through it. “I’m happy because it isn’t a dream. This is real.”

“I promise that I had no idea you existed,” Harry says, feeling the press of guilt to his chest. “I didn’t exactly stay in contact with your mum once we stopped… seeing each other.”

“I know.”

“Do you? I mean,” Harry stops himself. “What do you know?”

Gabe frowns, looking down at his knee. He picks at a loose thread. “I know my mum and you had an affair.”

Heat rushes to Harry’s face, burning his cheeks and his forehead from the inside. It feels like the fire is forcing its way down his chest. “I’m not proud of that,” he says carefully. “I never met your dad but I knew your mum had someone. We met on holiday and I never saw her again after that.”

“I know,” Gabe says. “My dad told me that you probably didn’t know about me. I never held it against you.”

“I feel so much right now, to be honest,” Harry says. “Guilt and happiness and sadness- so much sadness. I missed out on everything.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have. I was young and stupid, so stupid. Do you want to tell me anything? Yell at me?”

Gabe laughs and shakes his head. “I’m not mad at you, not at all. I had- _have_ \- the perfect dad and I don’t wish for my life to be any different. Besides, obviously, that I would want both you and my dad to be here.”

“Me too,” Harry says, smiling. “I would give so much to meet him and thank him.” They’re quiet for a moment, Harry’s foot connecting with the ground every few swings to keep them moving. “Do you have anything to ask me? It’ll be hard to get a word in when Maya comes home.”

“I have a lot of questions but I forgot most of them when Zayn hugged me,” Gabe admits. “He’s so kind, Harry.”

Harry beams, looking across the lawn to where Zayn’s plopped down in the grass, dozing in the sun with Bongo. Cindy is crawling around them, rubbing her cheek in the lawn every few steps. The baby monitor is quiet next to Zayn’s head. “I’m relieved you met him first,” he confides with a cheeky grin. “He makes the better impression out of the two of us.”

Gabe snorts. “I think his hug _was_ a little better,” he teases. “Then again, I was close to a breakdown so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge it. It felt like a great hug.”

Harry opens his mouth to respond- it was probably the best hug his mate has ever given, if Harry knows Zayn at all- but just then the doorwall slides open. He’s stopping the swing before he even realises, on his feet and opening his arms as soon as he sees his three older pups running across the patio to him.

“Daddy!” Eleven year old Maya shouts, beating her brothers in the footrace and launching herself forward, wrapping her little arms around Harry’s neck and hugging him tightly as he falls to his knees in the grass. “Daddy, I have so much to tell you,” she says in a stage whisper. Bongo yaps and barks in excitement, circling the knot of them as he sniffs the pups out to figure out where they’ve been.

“Me, too,” Harry replies to his daughter, kissing her curls as first Zahir and then Jawhar tuck in for their own hugs.

“Daddy, who is that?” Zahir asks, inadvertently shoving Maya out of the way as he presses as close as he can, hiding his head in Harry’s neck out of shyness.

Jawhar tries to climb Harry like a tree, making his buzzy sound in his throat as he sighs, “Hi, daddy.”

“Hi, Bug. Hi, Zed. Let me look at you. Oh, you’ve all gotten so big. You’re gonna be taller than baba soon.”

“I heard that,” Zayn says as he comes up behind them, holding his arms out for his own round of hugs. Zahir stays close to his baba’s side, eyeing Gabe nervously while Harry stands and gets a hand on Maya’s shoulder and then Jawhar’s, pulling them so their backs are against his legs.

“I want to introduce you guys to someone,” he says. “This is Gabe. He’s… your brother.”

All three of them look to him in confusion before turning back to Gabe. Nearly eight year old Jawhar is the first to step forward, holding out his hand the way he’s seen grown ups do. “Hi, I’m Jawhar,” he says, smiling wide when Gabe takes his hand and shakes it. He grabs Gabe ‘round the knees in a tight hug before pulling away. “Baba, can I see the babies?”

“They’re sleeping but you can go check on them,” Zayn allows and Jawhar runs back into the house at full speed with Bongo at his heels. “Don’t wake them yet, Bug!” Zayn calls out after him.

“How is he our brother, baba?” Zahir asks in a low voice, twelve years old but with the seriousness of an adult as he looks Gabe over nervously. He’s got one hand on the hem of Zayn’s t-shirt, the angle awkward as he’s sprouting up like a weed and is nearly up to Zayn’s chin already.

“That’s… a long story, jaan,” Zayn says. “We’ll talk more about it all over tea. Do you want to say hello to Gabe?”

“Hello, Gabe,” Zahir parrots, though he doesn’t offer his hand like his brother had.

Harry frowns at his oldest- second oldest, he realises with a jolt- and sighs. Zahir isn’t being rude, exactly, so he can’t reprimand him but he is being cold to Gabe and nothing like the soft, gentle little soul he really is. Harry looks up to Zayn, sharing a glance before Zayn nods and smiles. Zayn rubs Zahir’s shoulders before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Let’s go have a cuddle, jaan. Tell me all about your weekend with daadi and daada.”

Zahir doesn’t take his eyes off of Gabe for a long moment but Gabe continues smiling gently and even offers a little wave just before Zayn gets Zahir to turn around and leads him over to the bench swing. Harry smiles. “Sorry,” he offers. “Zahir is just…”

“It’s fine,” Gabe assures him, stepping closer and glancing down at Maya. “Hi,” he says. “Who are you?”

“My name is Maya,” she says quietly, looking up at Gabe with wide eyes. “You look like my daddy.”

Gabe’s smile softens and he kneels down so he’s on eye level with Maya. “My hair’s a little different, though, don’t you think?”

“Yes but it’s curly like mine!” Maya says in excitement, reaching out a hand as if to touch but Harry clears his throat. “Sorry,” she says, quickly putting her hand behind her back and touching the soft cotton of Harry’s joggers. “I forget to respect people’s personal spaces,” she mutters.

Gabe laughs and pulls his hair out of the low ponytail it’s in. “You can touch my hair, if you like.”

“Yes, please!” she says, reaching again and twirling her fingers carefully through the curls. “It’s just like mine but I like the blonde better. Baba says I can’t dye my hair yet.”

“Well, maybe when you’re older.”

“Yeah. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“I’m eleven and a half.”

The baby monitor comes to life, sounds of whimpers and Jawhar attempting to shush the twins drifting through the backyard.

“I can go help him,” Maya volunteers, letting Gabe’s curls fall from her hands as she looks up at Harry. “Daddy, I’m big enough to help.”

“Go ahead,” Harry says. She takes off like a bullet to the house, opening the sliding door carefully after a glance back at Harry, before she’s inside and out of sight. “So…” Harry starts, trailing off as he turns to look at Gabe. “That’s the rest of us,” he says with a shrug and a smile.

“I can’t believe your family is so big,” Gabe says, a laugh in his voice. “I went from feeling so alone after my dad died to feeling now…”

“Like you’re drowning in siblings?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

The bench swing now occupied, they take a turn around the yard. They walk in step and in silence for several long moments until Harry realises Gabe keeps sneaking glances over to Zayn and Zahir.

“He’s a good boy,” Harry says in an apologetic tone. “I think he’s just shocked.”

Gabe looks startled that he’s been caught out, pausing in his stride. “I don’t… I’m not upset with him.”

“No, you’re a good boy, too,” Harry says with a grin when Gabe rolls his eyes. “He’s just jealous and maybe worried; he’s the oldest and now he might feel…”

“Unsure,” Gabe supplies. “Like he doesn’t know his place. I get that, which is why I don’t blame him. Any tips for winning him over?”

Harry thinks about it, continuing to walk. “He likes cats and space. And he likes conversations, though he isn’t the best at them with strangers. He loves his family- his baba and me, his little siblings- with a firm and fierce sense of pride. You’re family and it won’t take long for him to realise that and accept you completely.”

Gabe frowns but nods, looking over when Zayn calls his name. “Help us make tea?” Zayn yells across the lawn, smiling when Gabe nods. He beckons them over.

“Zed will most likely help, too,” Harry says. Once again, his husband has read the situation perfectly and come up with the best way to deal with it. “I appreciate your interest in him. You finding us and being… everything you are is a gift, truly,” Harry says, clearing his throat when his voice gets thick. “As your… father, wow, I thought I was getting used to the thought but no, it’s still amazing to say. Um, anyway, as your father, I want to tell you that you’ve already done enough by getting the courage to come here and the strength to stay. As father to both of you, I want you to be lenient with your little brother.”

“It’s a lot,” Gabe agrees. “I’ll go see if I can work space or cats into conversation as we make dinner.” He pats Harry on the shoulder, squeezing a little before he crosses the yard to where Zayn’s waiting. Harry watches as Zayn links his arm through Gabe’s, steering him into the house and striking up a conversation that Harry’s too far away to hear.

Alone, he casts his eyes around the yard. Cindy’s the lone member of the Malik clan still outside, snacking on a long patch of grass, and she pays him no mind as he settles into a lounger and tilts his head back, soaking up the September sun for a moment.

 

 

He only intends to rest his eyes for a moment but the next thing he’s aware of is Jawhar climbing up next to him, snuggling into Harry’s side.

“Hey beta,” Harry says, wrapping an arm around his son’s back in reflex. “How long’ve I been sleeping?”

“Just a little bit,” Jawhar murmurs. “The twins went right back down and baba is almost done with tea.”

“Where’s Gabe?”

Jawhar shrugs. “Didn’t see him.”

Harry coughs into his shoulder before resettling against the chair.

“Daddy, how is Gabe my brother?”

“Well, you’re my son and Gabe’s my son.”

“Is he baba’s son, too?”

“No, baby. He’s your half-brother, so it’s just me. You’re both my boys.”

Jawhar buzzes about that for a second, making a sound in his throat like he’s blowing raspberries. It’s something he’s done since he was a non-verbal child, a self-soothing sound he makes when he’s happy or right about to fall asleep. Harry looks down, seeing Jawhar’s eyes closing, and smiles.

“Let’s go to bed.”

“No, m’not sleepy.”

“Yes you are,” Harry contradicts, resolved to not make the same mistake he did with the twins earlier. Nearly eight, Jawhar rarely takes naps but Harry knows he probably had a full weekend at his daada and daadi’s so he sits up and gathers Jawhar into his arms, standing with care and holding him close to his body. “Just a little sleep,” Harry promises.

Jawhar just grumbles and wraps his arms around his daddy’s neck, face tucked in and nose brushing Harry’s clavicle.

Harry slides the glass door open carefully and steps inside, finding Maya and Zayn setting the table. Zayn looks over.

“I’m going to put him down in the back room, have him get a little sleep before dinner.”

Zayn comes over, wiping his hands on his back pockets. “I’ll take him, if you like. Gabe and Zed are in the back room.”

Harry shakes his head, turning away. “I’ve got him.”

“Your back, Haz. He’s small but he’s still too big for you to be carrying him around.”

“I’m fine, love. I’ll take him to the living room, then. Shall I get the twins as well?”

Zayn smiles and gets a grip of Harry’s shirt, tugging him back to face him. He tilts his chin up and silently demands a kiss, his lashes fanned against his cheeks and lips pursed. Harry shifts Jawhar in his hold, reaching for Zayn’s waist and pulling him closer. Their kiss is brief to him but must be long enough to cause Maya to make a terrible retching sound in her throat and Harry separates from his husband with a laugh.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Harry says in a low tone. “I had so many plans for when I came home.”

“Naked plans?” Zayn asks with a smirk and Harry answers with one of his own.

“Of course.”

“I can hear you!”

“No, you can’t,” Harry retorts confidently, stepping back and turning to look at his daughter. “Come help me with the twins if your baba is done with you here.”

“Go on,” Zayn allows.

Harry shifts Jawhar in his hold again, the seven year old sleeping soundly, and takes Maya’s hand.

“Daddy, can I dye my hair blonde like Gabe?”

“Maybe when you’re older.”

“That’s what baba says, too. Oh well. Hey, daddy?”

Harry hums, stepping into the living room and letting Jawhar slip from his hold to lie on the large sofa. “What’s up, May?”

“Is there more sand in the world or water?”

Puzzled, Harry smiles. “Water. What makes you ask that?”

“Just curious. Is there more grass or sand?”

Harry takes her hand again and leads her up the stairs. “I’m not sure. I think sand, but we can look it up after tea.”

“How much does the earth weigh?”

“I… don’t know.”

“If animals could talk, would they have funny accents?”

“No, I suppose they’d sound like us.”

“I think Bubbles would sound very posh, like the queen.”

“That’s…” _a lot of questions,_ Harry wants to say but they’re finally in the nursery and Maya’s distracted by Dani turning his head to look at her. “Hi babies,” Harry says instead, leaning over Dani’s crib to pick him up. He gives him a sniff test and then a small cuddle, passing him to Maya carefully. She’s tall for her age but thin like a waif, though her grip is strong. She whispers something to Dani to make him smile and laugh, reaching his hands out for her curls, and Harry gently wakes a dozing Sami.

“He’s in need of a change. Why don’t you take Dani downstairs- carefully, May- and I’ll follow in a minute.”

“I’ll be careful,” she says in a serious tone. “I’ll let him walk with me.”

She sets him on his feet, taking Dani’s chubby hand in her own and walking in step with him out of the room.

“C’mon with me, scamp,” Harry tells the twin in his arms. Sami’s eyes are open but he’s blinking slowly, still holding on to the edge of sleep, and he doesn’t fight his changing at all. “My sweetest little one.”

Smelling like roses- or, more accurately, clean diaper and baby powder- Sami doesn’t struggle in Harry’s hold until they’re at the bottom of the stairs. “Down, daddy,” he says, pushing at Harry’s chest, and Harry sets him carefully on his feet. Sami toddles away for a few steps, bending over to pick up a discarded toy, before he makes his way back to Harry. “C’mon,” he says in his baby babble and Harry’s heart practically melts as he lets his toddler lead the way to the kitchen.

They pass the back room on their way, the doors opening and Zahir walking out first. His eyes and the tip of his nose are red but he smiles when he sees Harry. “Hey, dad.”

“Hey. Gabe in there with you?”

Zahir shakes his head. “He left a minute ago. I just needed a second to…” he waves his hand.

“You wanna talk to me about it?”

Zahir shakes his head again but he comes in for a hug, holding Harry tight around the waist. “I’m okay now,” he says. “I was scared and being selfish.”

Harry rubs his hand over Zahir’s shoulders, holding him close. “You’re twelve years old, love. You’re allowed to be both sometimes.”

“I’m okay,” Zahir repeats, smiling again when he looks up. His chin is digging into the soft skin at Harry’s hips but he doesn’t mind, tweaking Zahir’s nose and laughing at the look of horror on his son’s face. “I’m way too old for that,” he says decisively, “ _way_ too old.”

“Aye, I know. You’re all grown.”

Zahir pulls away, the redness in his face having receded somewhat. “Let’s go eat, c’mon.”

Harry follows him into the kitchen, relieved when he sees Gabe carrying the salad bowl to the dining table. “You alright?” Gabe asks him, faltering in his steps when he catches sight of Harry’s face.

Harry nods. “Kept thinking you’d run off,” he says.

Gabe grins and sets down his bowl. “I’m going to stay here for a couple of days.  Zayn told me there’s a spare room he can help me make up later. I don’t have anything waiting for me in Surrey and I’d… rather be with family.”

“If it gets weird or Gabe needs his space, I told him we can put him up in a hotel nearby.”

“Then we can go visit him and go to the pool!” Maya shouts, pressing her hand to her mouth when she sees Harry’s face. “Inside voice, sorry.”

Zahir and Zayn put the twins in their high chairs while Harry goes to wake Jawhar and lead him back to the dining room. Harry pulls Zayn’s chair out for him as usual, at the head of the table with the high chairs on either side. Harry slides into the seat next to him and Maya and Jawhar take their usual places. Zahir steps up to his chair, across from Harry and next to Zayn, but then he looks over to Gabe.

“You should sit here,” he says, his voice small. “You’re the oldest.”

Gabe smiles as he’s half-slid into a spare seat. “You’re still the oldest Malik boy,” he reminds Zahir. “That’s your spot.”

“But you’re my big brother so you’re the oldest,” Zahir protests. “I want you to sit here tonight.”

Gabe nods and stands, stepping behind Zahir and pressing a hand to his shoulder. “Thank you, little brother.”

Zahir looks pleased and embarrassed at the attention of his parents and siblings. He shuffles over the empty seat next to Maya and slides in, grabbing a roll from the middle of the table and biting into it to give himself something to focus on. Harry casts around for a distraction but it’s Maya to the rescue, as usual.

“Why can’t I see my eyes? I can see my hair, my hands, even my nose if I do this,” she says, crossing her eyes. “How come I can’t see my eyes?”

Zayn and Harry had made a pact years ago to never laugh at Maya’s questions- curiosity should be encouraged and guided, they had agreed- but they break it in unison now.


	24. honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this since September? That seems weird. Well, day 7 of my birth month party/draft amnesty thing I've just made up. A little chapter/sneak peek into their honeymoon after Zayn's come out of his heat. Very tiny chapter, not much substance but something I've had drafted for a bit and wanted to finish.
> 
> Thanks, always, to everyone who has read this and commented or thought about it or messaged me on tumblr! It feels amazing to connect with people even in just a small way; it's why I honestly love being part of fandoms, even if they're troublesome at times, too.

In the end, the autumn storm hovers above their cottage for two full days. Incidentally, Zayn’s heat lasts nearly the same amount of time.

Having never experienced a full heat before, Zayn relies on Harry’s experience to guide him through it. He’s had mild ones, of course, ones that consist of a slightly higher sex drive and a bit shorter attention span but he’s never known the insatiable need that a bonded heat can trigger. Zayn doesn’t process a lot of what happens while he’s half-under, but he knows that Harry keeps feeding him snacks and making him drink glasses of water between rounds and he definitely notices the way Harry keeps knotting and licking him to completion in turn as if to prevent Zayn from growing too sore, too quickly.

On the third day, the heat and the storm both break and Zayn spends half of the day in the deepest sleep of his twenty-four years, dressed in a pair of Harry’s softest joggers and a vest that hangs from his thin frame.

When he wakes, it’s to the sound of a bath being run and a mix of mint and eucalyptus scenting the air. He stretches in bed, feeling the tension in his muscles from seventy-two hours spent nearly entirely in the same four-by-five space, and he pushes the duvet off from his waist. The air is cool where it drifts in from a cracked window, the smell of the sea tangling with the smell of the bath Harry is getting prepared. Zayn stands carefully, dizzy as the blood rushes to his head before it passes and he can walk quietly into the hallway and then to the bathroom.

“Is this for me?” he asks. His words startle Harry, who nearly slips as he turns quickly. “Careful,” Zayn says, stepping to his side quickly.

“You’re awake,” Harry says, brushing off Zayn’s steadying hand gently. “Good morning, baby.”

Zayn smiles and tilts his head back, letting Harry lick into his mouth possessively as his hands cup Zayn’s cheeks. “Is it really morning?” he asks when he pulls away, already knowing the answer.

“We’re on our honeymoon. It’s whatever time you want, love.”

Zayn scrunches his nose at that. “I can learn to live like this,” he says.

“I’ve just started the bath salts to dissolve a bit,” Harry says. “Let’s get you in the shower and then you can soak everything away.”

“You’re gonna stay with me, yeah?”

“I was going to head into town and get some groceries but I can be convinced to stay.”

Harry lets Zayn shower alone but he joins him later in the tub, letting Zayn rest against his chest as he uses his toes to control the hot and cold taps.

“I think I’ll be okay tomorrow,” Zayn says as Harry trails his hands along Zayn’s sides. Bubbles coat Zayn’s chest, rising higher and higher with the water until the tub won’t hold any more. He can hear Harry’s hesitance so he rushes to continue. “I don’t think I’m going to be magically all better,” he says, shifting gingerly on his mate’s chest, “but I want to at least walk down to the beach with you. I don’t want to spend my entire honeymoon in bed- not if the fun stuff is off of the table.”

“The most off of the table it will ever be,” Harry confirms, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn laughs and then dozes off for a bit almost right away, lulled by how cozy and warm it is in the bath with his favorite person in the whole world beneath him. When he wakes again, the water is lukewarm and Harry is stirring from a nap of his own, it seems. “Y’alright?” he asks.

He takes the purr-like rumble in Harry’s chest as answer.

“I’m getting a bit peckish,” Zayn says. “Do we have some of those snack bars you kept making me eat?”

“You hated those,” Harry laughs, helping Zayn stand and step over the edge of the tub without putting a heel in any of Harry’s sensitive bits. Zayn settles on his feet quickly enough, rolling his eyes fondly at Harry’s care, and grabs a towel from the counter near the tub. He dries off as Harry drains the tub and wraps a towel around his own waist, tucking it to keep it closed as they make their way out of the room together. Harry keeps a hand on Zayn the entire way, palm running along Zayn’s spine and fingers feeling out the bumps in a distracted fashion.

The kitchen is around the corner from the bedrooms, the cottage a closed floor plan with separate walls for every room. Zayn ignores Harry’s suggestion to put on some clothes and he walks into the kitchen in only his towel. He noses through a few cabinets before he finds the protein bars and rips one open eagerly. He hadn’t really known _how_ hungry he was until he saw it.

Harry comes into the room behind him just in time to watch him spit the bite he’d taken into the bin before tossing the rest of the bar behind it. “These are disgusting,” Zayn bitches.

“I told you!”

“Why would you ever feed me those?”

Harry rolls his eyes and Zayn smiles before putting on a pout. “Do we have any real food?”

“There’s some leftovers still but they’re three days old now, so they might be a bit dodgy.”

“What have you been eating?”

“Well, I was under with you for most of your heat and I slept almost the whole day away.”

“So what you’re saying is… we’re going out for breakfast?”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “ _You_ aren’t going anywhere, you won’t even put on clothes!”

“I would if there were pancakes!”

“I want to keep you in the house a bit longer. I’ve never had you through a heat like this and I don’t want you around people right now. It’s just an alpha thing, I think.”

“So how am I getting pancakes, caveman?” Zayn says, his pout turning real. “Now I won’t stop thinking about them.”

Harry palms at Zayn’s hips and pulls him into his chest, kissing his cheeks and then his sad little mouth. “I’ll go do a quick shop and make you all the pancakes you want.”

“At least a dozen,” Zayn says in a deadpan though he isn’t sure he’s even lying.

“I’ll make a dozen dozens,” Harry boasts. “But you have to go put on some clothes or else I’m never going to leave.”

Though that might be an interesting trick to try next time Harry goes away for a business trip, Zayn decides he’d rather have food than anything else right now. He walks away, not quite limping because he has some dignity, and heads straight to Harry’s side of their temporary wardrobe.

“And not my clothes, that will just make it worse!” Harry calls out. Zayn can hear him grabbing for the keys. “AND NOTHING LACY!”

“No promises!” Zayn calls back, though he opts for a t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t hold anything too tightly or call any specific attention to his bum. He’s all for teasing Harry but he can’t let himself be teased either right now.

He wanders back out to the front sitting room in time to give Harry a kiss goodbye and let his husband herd him into a comfy armchair. “Stay here, be good,” Harry teases with a final kiss.

“I’m not dying,” Zayn protests. “I just got dicked down.”

“Oh, that’s romantic. What if we’re pregnant and the first thing our little pup hears in your tummy is ‘dicked down’?”

“His uncle is Louis- he’ll hear a lot worse,” Zayn retorts. He touches at his stomach carefully, though he doesn’t think there’s anyone in there yet. Everyone says he’ll know when it happens and he feels the same right now. “Just go off and leave me here,” Zayn says, pulling his legs up to his chest. He doesn’t even wince and feels rather proud. Though Harry had been as gentle as he could, a heat is a heat and even the small ones can make him sore for a few days. “I love you.”

Harry touches a finger to Zayn’s nose. “Love you, too. Be right back,” he promises.

Zayn watches him out the window as he jogs to their car and reverses out of the drive. He pulls a blanket down from the back of the armchair and grabs the clicker, turning on something for nothing but background noise as he closes his eyes for a little nap.


	25. time is a flat circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day twelve! i started writing this a *long* time ago and finally forced myself to revisit it for good over the past few days

It’s mid-June, Zahir is five weeks old, and Harry is beaming with pride as he shuffles his mate and new pup into his office building. He takes off their light jackets carefully, straightening the bowtie-adorned onesie they’d slipped over Zahir before they’d left the house.

“He’s gonna be in six month clothes soon,” Harry brags. “Maybe even toddler-sized.” He pokes at his pup’s round, full belly and pulls a face to make Zahir giggle.

“Big like your daddy, huh beta?” Zayn agrees, kissing Zahir on the forehead before passing him over.

Harry takes him into his arms so very carefully, treating him like he’s delicate and fragile as always. The most precious thing he’s ever held. Zayn slides the coats out of the crook of Harry’s arm and ushers them into the elevator. “Bubba’s big debut,” Harry pronounces as they watch the floor numbers light up in turn above their heads. “Are you sure we have everything?”

Zayn smiles and nods, patting the diaper bag where Harry has it slung over his shoulder. “We both double and triple checked. We’re good.”

His face is already hurting from holding his smile but Harry doesn’t mind. “Most gorgeous boy anyone’s ever seen,” he says with pride.

 

 

“He’s the most gorgeous boy anyone’s ever seen,” Harry says, the mid-June breeze threatening to take his words right out of his mouth. Zayn hears him anyway, shoving in closer to Harry’s side and wiping at his cheeks. “He looks completely different.”

“I know,” Zayn says. “He’s so…. Grown up.”

“I want to be a Marine!” Dani says, waving towards where Zed is standing with the other graduates, the ceremony nearly completed.

“No,” Harry and Zayn say in unison.

“Stop waving, babe,” Zayn says, grabbing Dani’s hand and holding it gently. “Zahir’s got to be in line for the parade right now, he’ll come see us in a minute.”

“Can I show him my flag?” Dani asks, clutching the stick of his flag with his free hand. Sami jumps up and down, waving his own wildly in the air, but he isn’t hooting or hollering so Harry lets him be. Gabe and Maya are flanking the group, cameraphones in hand to capture the ceremony, and Jawhar is around somewhere but Harry can only focus on his oldest Malik boy.

It feels like forever and a day before they’re dismissed, the lines breaking as the recruits start towards the families they haven’t seen in weeks. Harry cups his hands around his mouth to call out for his son but Zahir’s already spotted them and is heading over at a jog.

“Am I allowed to hug you?” Harry asks with a grin, arms already opening.

“You better,” Zahir responds, crashing into his dad with all the abandon of a small child. It kills him to do so but Harry keeps the hug brief, aware of the eyes all around them that are watching the recruits for any signs of excessive displays. He kisses Zahir above his brow before letting Zayn grab onto him and pull him in.

After a minute or maybe an hour, Harry clears his throat and Zayn pulls back, wiping at his eyes and cupping his son’s cheek in his hand. “You’re so… wonderfully different now, beta.”

Zahir grins, bright and full. He’s deeply tanned from his training, face tinged red and eyes bright and shining. The twins are already crowding him, one hugging each thigh, and Zahir laughs. He offers Gabe his hand to shake, his lip curled in a smirk, and Harry feels his throat get stupidly tight for a moment as he watches them when he realises it’s all so very real.

“ _Dad_ ,” Maya groans. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“He’ll be worse at your wedding,” Zahir says, pulling his sister into a hug once the fourteen year olds release him. “Where’s Jawhar?”

“He’s off filming something, no doubt,” Zayn says, reaching out a hand again until his fingers are touching the edge of Zahir’s sleeve. “We’ve missed you so much. Your grandmothers are home cooking up a big roast for you.”

“I won’t be home for another two days,” Zahir laughs.

“They’re getting it all ready and started. They would have loved to come down but…”

“It’s enough of a committee with just us,” twenty year old Jawhar finishes, coming back over to them and pressing into the group to give his older brother a hug. “I got some great shots of you, bro.”

‘Bro’ Harry mouths to Zayn, smiling as he wipes his husband’s wet cheeks.

“Do we get to see where you’ve been sleeping?”

“I can’t take you into our barracks but we can go by an empty one and I can show you what it looks like?” Zahir offers. “Not much different than you see in the films, I suppose.”

“What do you want to show us, beta? We’ll go wherever.”

Zahir thinks about it for a second. “I can take you where I usually write my letters. There’s a small spot by the canteen they’d let us write in sometimes. Stay on my left, baba,” Zahir says, getting an arm around Zayn’s waist and leading him in close. “Tell me about everything I’ve missed.”

Harry trails back, letting Sami and Dani bounce along next to the two Malik boys in front of him. Gabe falls in step on his right and Maya brings up the rear, busy on her phone. “Does he know how long he has?” Gabe asks.

“Three weeks at home and then he has to report back to base. It’s longer than most get so we’re trying to be thankful.”

“Up here, baba,” Zahir says, pausing to salute passing officers before he continues to lead them forward, the huge building housing the cafeteria looming in front of them.

 

 

“Baba, up here!” Zahir shouts, his toddler legs propelling him faster and faster up the hill.

“Slow down, beta, I have your sister,” Zayn calls out but Zahir doesn’t hear it.

“I’ve got him,” Harry laughs, making to set down the diaper bag but Rhino’s already on it, bursting past Zahir in a second and corralling him.

“Rhino good boy,” Zahir says, patting Rhino’s face but not getting the hint to slow down. He tries to keep walking, bumping into Rhino as he goes. “Rhino move,” he laughs, making to shove at the dog but his toddler strength is no match for Rhino’s determination and the dog just snuffles in his face instead, getting him all slobbery.

Harry reaches them, picking up Zahir and putting him on his hip.

“I walk?” Zahir asks.

“No, let daddy hold you,” Harry answers. “I wanna hold my little boy.”

Zahir thinks about it for a second before he must decide to agree. “Yeah,” he says, putting his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Go there,” he says, pointing. “Tree.”

“Bush,” Harry corrects. “That’s a bush. You want to have our picnic there?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Alright, let’s go eat.”

 

 

“Dad? Let’s eat.”

Harry shakes his head and blinks, looking around. He realises he’s stopped moving entirely, staring into space while people shuffle past him on their way to the cafeteria. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, moving again. “Was reminiscing.”

Zahir shakes his head. “How old was I?”

“Three,” Harry answers with a grin, slipping an arm around Zahir’s back for a greedy moment before he lets go. “We were going for a picnic and you kept running ahead. Always moving, you were.”

“Is this the picnic where I fell out of the tree or the one where I tried to go sledding in the mud?”

Harry grimaces, remembering both of those times. “Maybe you were two,” he amends. “You weren’t quite that high-energy yet.”

Zahir schools his expression to be more serious, the hint of a smile in the corners of his eyes and lips. “I’ve got a surprise for you guys later,” he says. “Time for food now, though.”

Harry nods and follows his boy inside, the rest of the family waiting near the entrance. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the lighting, the canteen brighter than the overcast sky outside. He’s never seen so many people in one area, he thinks. Rows and rows of tables fill the building, families spread throughout. One of the long walls houses the kitchen and buffet style line, and Zahir leads them over and passes out plates.

“Go ahead, bubba. I’ll follow your lead.”

“You’d be thrilled with how I’m eating,” Zahir teases. “Everything’s super healthy and most stuff is organic.”

“No sweets?”

“Not as much as I’d like. Looks like they’ve set up a treats stand for the families though. I’ll sneak a little cake maybe.”

“Do you get time to mingle while you eat?” Harry asks, piling green beans on his plate. “Is that stupid to ask? I know you lot are here for work.”

“No, it’s not stupid. Baba,” he stops, motioning towards Zayn, “try some of the melon.” Zayn nods and smiles indulgently, tongs already in hand to grab a slice, and Zahir turns back to Harry, satisfied. “We get down time and freetime more often than you may think. I’ve met a lot of people here- friends I’ll have forever.”

“Anyone leaning into the more than friends territory?” Harry asks, keeping his eyes on his plate.

“Dad, c’mon.”

“Oh, so that’s a yes?” Zahir’s eyes are wide and bright when Harry looks up again. “What’s her name? Or his? What’s their name?” he corrects.

“ _Dad_ ,” Zahir repeats. “It’s new, c’mon.”

“Even new people have names. We had yours picked out and ready.”

“Yeah, what’d you pick?” Zahir asks, sarcasm dripping from his words in a perfect mimic of Harry’s tone. Harry grins.

 

 

“So, what’d you pick?” Liam asks, holding the newborn carefully in his arms. Zayn shifts in the hospital bed and Harry knows he’s watching Liam like a hawk. Nevermind that Liam’s already parent to three pups of his own, Zayn worked so hard to bring this one into the world and Harry would bet he’ll be critical of even the way the nurses are caring for him.

“Zahir,” Harry responds, smoothing a hand down Zayn’s spine as he settles on the bed next to his mate. “We like the name Zahir.”

“Zahir,” Louis repeats, peering at the bundle in his husband’s arms. “Hello Zahir.”

“He’s the biggest pup the midwife’s ever delivered,” Harry says proudly. “Zayn did that.”

“Haz,” Zayn shushes, pushing at Harry’s leg though his eyes never wander.

“Proper scary near the end, though,” Louis says, expertly plucking Zahir from Liam’s arms and settling on the bed near Zayn’s waist. “Here, he’s right here so you can chill,” Louis says, shooting Zayn a grin before focusing back on the baby.

“I’m chill,” Zayn mutters.

Louis ignores him. “He’s a looker.” Louis runs a finger gently through the black fuzzy hair corkscrewed around Zahir’s head. Harry reaches out, running his finger along Zahir’s perfectly plump little bottom lip as the pup wriggles as he wakes.

He doesn’t cry, hasn’t much yet at all, but his dark eyes open and he takes in the faces peering down at him. He stares at his daddy for a long moment before his eyes close, fuzzy line of barely-there lashes dark in the overhead lights, and the bow of his lip stretches in a smile.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Zayn says, tearing his eyes away to meet Harry’s briefly. “The word ‘love’ is completely changed for me forever.”

“Everything has changed,” Harry agrees. “Everything is so much better.”

 

 

“It’s all changed, everything about him,” Zayn says while Zahir takes Maya and Jawhar to the empty barracks he’d offered to show them earlier. The twins and Gabe stay behind, Sami passed out on his baba’s lap like he’s a small baby again and not a half-grown young lad.

Harry had spent much of the last hour keeping an eye on Zahir’s interactions with the other recruits, trying to read his body language. He’s been looking for hints to discover who has captured his son’s heart, ready to judge them against the impossible standard he’s happily set for all of his children.

Somehow, Jawhar’s snuck one under the radar and Harry will be damned if he lets it happen again.

Zahir could tell, Harry’s never been accused of being subtle himself, and would just shake his head with a grin every time Harry’s brow quirked in a question.

“He’s met someone,” Harry says, having held his tongue as long as he could.

Zayn turns so quickly that Harry’s surprised he doesn’t wince from whiplash. “He’s what, now?”

“It’s new and he won’t tell me anything.”

Zayn stands, hold on Sami still tight, and turns around. “Where’d they go?”

“He hasn’t snuck off with her or anything,” Harry says. “He’s with the others.”

“It’s a _her_?” Zayn asks, zeroing in on the pronoun. “Zahir’s met a girl?”

“I don’t know, no, could be a guy,” Harry backtracks immediately. “I just… he’s only dated boys but he seems different now…”

Dani yawns, scratching at his cheek. “Can we go home yet, dad?”

“Soon, baby,” Harry promises, running a hand through his curls, a lighter brown than his older brothers hold.

“I need to go talk to him,” Zayn says, rubbing a hand down Sami’s spine.

“Let me take him, Zayn,” Gabe offers, standing as well and holding out his hands for the youngest boy. Zayn smiles his thanks and passes Sami over, wiping his hands on his trousers. Sami doesn’t mind the move, just snuffles and wiggles in his new hold until he’s comfortable again.

“I’m coming with you,” Harry says, nearly jogging to meet his husband’s fast pace. “Zayn!”

“I just want to… oh,” he says as Harry crashes into his back when he stops abruptly just outside the dining hall. “I wanted to see.”

His boy, his oldest Malik boy, is holding the hand of a pretty girl when Harry looks up from the back of Zayn’s head. He’s smiling wide, the two of them tucked away from the commotion around them, and she looks nervous but happy. Everything about the two of them is the picture of young love.

Everything right down to the very obvious pregnancy bump that Zahir’s free hand is currently caressing like it’s the most precious thing in the world to him.

 

 

“You know you can let go of that bump any time you like,” Liam tells him, jostling his side. “You’re holding onto it like…”

“Like it’s the most precious thing in the world,” Harry finishes, patting Zayn’s eight month round bump one last time before he turns to his plate. “Took us years to make that pup, Li. I’ll touch it as much as I’d like, thank you very much.” Zayn clears his throat. “I’ll touch it as much as Zayn will let me,” Harry quickly amends. “Thank you very much.”

Liam laughs. Around them, Bella’s party is raging only the way a fourth birthday party could. Two and a half year old Jordyn is tucked in one of Liam’s arms with her twin sister, Diana, toddling around and following Louis everywhere. Without the miracle pup that Zayn’s carrying, he knows this party would have been enough to drive him to drink. Usually an easy going person, Harry and Zayn’s lack of pups had put a strain on their relationships with their friends. Thank god that’s all done, for more reasons than just envy.

“I don’t mind, babe,” Zayn says, patting at Harry’s hand. “I just have to piss. Excuse me, lads.”

He’s stopped by half a dozen people on his way into the house, all of them wanting to congratulate him on his bump. Louis and Liam’s families are extensions of their own at this point. Harry finds himself purring with pride, every alpha instinct in him ruffling its feathers at the non-threatening attention being given to his mate.

“I always had a plan for my life,” he tells Liam, smiling down at Jordyn where she’s napping in her father’s arms. “A mate, a flat, a pup. I just didn’t think it was going to be… this. This overwhelming sense of satisfaction. I can’t wait to meet my child. How did I get this lucky? Literally, how did this happen?”

 

 

“ _How did this_ _happen_?”

“It’s not like that,” Zahir defends, crossing his arms. “Sloane is so great and you’ll see that if you just _give her a chance_.”

“No one thinks she isn’t,” Harry steps in between his mate and his son, getting a hand on both of their arms. “We’re just… confused, bubba, because you haven’t told us about her. That’s not like you.”

“It’s complicated,” Zahir allows, letting down his guard just a bit. “We can’t really be open about it.”

“Why not?” Zayn asks, mirroring his son’s body language. “What’s so complicated about calling us and just saying, ‘baba, dad, I’ve been seeing a girl and I got her pregnant.’ Doesn’t seem that hard. Your brother did it and if daddy didn’t kill Ben then he’s not going to be upset with you!”

“Baba…”

“Zed, I don’t understand… you tell us everything! The first time you slept with an omega, you called your daddy to make sure you did everything right by him.”

“God, just, hold on for a second,” Zahir says, lifting his cap and running his fingers through his hair. “It’s not what you’re thinking. We met a couple months ago.”

“C’mon… she’s pretty far along,” Harry says.

“Yeah, dad. She’s almost full term.”

Confused, Harry frowns and pivots to face Zahir more fully. “Why don’t you tell us the whole story, babe. We’re listening.” He pulls Zayn’s arms down. “We’re not upset,” he adds.

Zayn hums as if he isn’t sure of his agreement but he doesn’t say anything.

“Sloane is one of the instructors. She was married but he was a bad guy, awful really, and she filed for divorce over six months ago. Didn’t know she was pregnant until after.”

Harry sighs, understanding why Zahir was so adamant for privacy. He shuffles himself and Zayn closer to Zahir, corralling them further from the mingling family members who aren’t having their entire worlds shattered around them.

“She wasn’t my teacher but we met when she was well along. She didn’t want to meet you guys like this, she knows exactly why you’d be reserved. But she… she’s different from every person I’ve ever met. She’s everything.”

“Geeze, jaan,” Zayn says, stepping forward and pulling Zahir into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I couldn’t find the words,” he says into his baba’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could _never_ disappoint us by falling in love,” Harry argues, stepping forward and placing a hand on each of their backs.

“It’s more. We’re… mated,” Zahir admits, looking down when he pulls back from a hug.

“Wow.”

Harry steadies Zayn when it seems like his mate is feeling weak at that news. He fists his dress shirt, not caring about the wrinkles, as he tugs Zayn closer to his side. “It’s okay,” he says into Zayn’s ear, letting his voice drop low to get through to the fog definitely clouding Zayn’s mind.

“I love you, jaan, I just… I need a minute,” Zayn says, stepping forward and squeezing Zahir’s arms through his uniform. “One second,” he says before pressing a kiss to Zahir’s cheek and stepping away and back into the dimness of the cafeteria. Zahir’s shoulders drop just enough that Harry notices and he feels hollow for a moment, unable to fix this for either of his boys.

“He’s so mad.”

“No,” Harry answers instantly. “No, he’s not mad.”

“Then he’s disappointed.”

“That’s not it, either. It’s just… you’ve always had that special bond with your baba. He feels confused and hurt that you didn’t tell him this; he’s blaming himself more than he would ever put the blame on you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better.”

Harry watches his son lift his hand and rub the back of his neck, a near-identical image of his baba under duress, and he feels angry with himself for making the situation worse. He’s got his own way with words but his husband is the one who gets through to their pups with ease. “Can I meet Sloane?” he asks.

Zahir’s surprised but he nods, turning and scanning the crowd of people outside until he spots her, off to the side with her head down. He leads the way, a gentle purr of satisfaction in the back of his throat that he must not know Harry can hear. It only gets louder and more consistent when Sloane lifts her head and meets his eye.

“Babe,” Zahir says, holding out a hand when they’re close enough that she can lift hers. Harry can practically see the spark between them when her pale, freckled hand fits neatly into Zahir’s darker, sun-bronzed one. “This is my dad. Harry.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, her accent Welsh. “Zahir says the nicest things about his parents.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Harry assures, shaking her hand firmly. “My husband will be out in just a moment.”

Sloane winces though her smile doesn’t fade away. The hand that isn’t gripping tightly to Zahir immediately curls around her bump. “I know this isn’t what…”

“No,” Zahir stops her, replacing her hand with his. “This is our choice and I don’t like you apologizing for it.”

Sloane flushes but her smile relaxes and she rolls her eyes, endeared. “I’m not apologizing,” she assures him. “Only saying that I understand. This is… different than maybe expected.”

“Are you still coming home with us, Zed?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, I am. We can leave in the morning day after next.”

“Will you be, uh… Sloane, will you be joining us? You’re more than welcome, of course.”

“Oh,” Sloane says, looking taken aback. “I wasn’t sure if…”

“Please come,” Zayn says from behind Harry. He looks cautious and still concerned when Harry turns to see him, but there’s steel resolve in his eyes and he steps up closer and holds out a hand for Sloane to shake. “Hi, I’m Zayn.”

“Sloane,” she says. “It’s so nice to meet you. Zahir’s told me so much about you.”

 

 

“Hello, sir. It’s so nice to meet you; Zayn’s told me so much about you.”

Yaser smiles, holding out a hand to shake Harry’s. He’s kind enough to pretend he doesn’t notice how badly Harry is sweating. “We’ve met, in a way,” Yaser says, referring to a quick FaceTime meeting a few weeks ago. Harry shakes the hair out of his eyes and nods. “How are you enjoying Bradford?”

“It’s amazing,” Harry says, still nodding. He stops himself. “I love seeing where Zayn grew up. Oh, this is for you,” he says, handing over the gift he’d painstakingly wrapped.

“Thank you,” Yaser says, opening it carefully and smiling. “This is a very nice watch.”

“Zayn says you like to collect them. My boss has this model and he loves it so I hope you enjoy it, too.”

“It’s great, Harry. You don’t have to bribe us to like you, though. I saw the earrings you brought my wife.”

Harry swallows, feeling about an inch tall under Yaser’s level gaze. “I’m not exactly trying to bribe you,” he says. “It’s very important to me that you like me, though.”

“Yes? Why is that?”

Harry pulls a small velvet bag out of his pocket and slips out a ring. “I bought this a few weeks ago,” he says, handing it over for Yaser to inspect. “Our friends told me it was too quick so I’ve just been carrying it around with me. Just in case.”

“Wow.”

“So, yeah,” Harry says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “This is why I need you to like me. I need your son to be in my life for always and he’ll change his mind about me if you don’t approve. You and your wife are always going to have his ear.”

“Wait a little longer, Harry. I’m not saying no, but give it a few more days, okay?”

There’s something sparkling in Yaser’s eyes that reminds Harry so much of Zayn that he trusts him implicitly the way he would his son. “I will,” he promises, taking the ring back and tucking it away safely. “Thank you for not saying no.”

“My son has never looked happier,” Yaser says. “You’re the reason for that. We’ve got our whole lives to get to know you, son.”

 

 

“My son has never looked happier,” Zayn says in a low tone. Harry doesn’t think he’s meant to overhear but he does, anyway. “You’re the reason for that, love.”

“He’s amazing,” Sloane says, eyes wet. She breathes in deeply, her nose whistling a little and she laughs when Zayn offers his sleeve. “I’ve got my own.”

“Are you having a boy?”

“How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Zayn admits. “Can I?”

Harry watches out of the corner of his eye as Zayn holds out his hand and hovers just over Sloane’s belly. She nods, placing her hand over the back of his and guiding him to where the baby is probably kicking. Harry is _dying_ to push his mate out of the way but he holds still and pretends to listen to Maya talking about all the attractive men in uniform- eye roll worthy conversation, for sure.

“Oh, wow.”

“That’s my boy,” Zahir says as he comes up to them and sits next to his baba. “My baby.”

It’s Zayn’s turn to sniffle and Harry sighs, pulling Sami to his side. “Who is gonna make baba cry next, do you think?”

“Probably you,” he laughs.

“Hey… well, yeah, that’s probably true.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi](http://softersin.tumblr.com/)! Let me know if there are any other scenes you'd like to see from this series. I'll probably write bits of it always.


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